


and if those paper wings don't fly someone's gonna paint you another sky

by serenitysea



Series: paper wings; the skyeward college au [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, and they basically wreak havoc on everything in sight, once they stop wanting to kill each other first, skyeward does college au, ward family shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2018-02-24 04:49:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 39,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2568770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenitysea/pseuds/serenitysea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>because yes, let's do skye x ward in college and the HAVOC they will wreak.</p><p> </p><p>"This isn't, like, <i>10 Things I Hate About You</i>," Skye finally says, folding her arms defensively and hiding her notes. "You and I aren't going to team up against the entire campus and fall in love."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

This is not some kind of meet cute scenario. 

They don't run into each other in a crowded hallway. She doesn't drop her books on the ground at his feet. He doesn't make some bet that he can turn her into the most popular girl in school.  
  
C'mon, guys.  
  
This is _college_.  
  
*  
  
Skye doesn't really like people.  
  
No. That is a lie.  
  
It's not that she doesn't like people. It's that people are often unnerved by her and she doesn't have the patience to play stupid to put them at ease. So it's easier for her to be an observer most of the time and see the clusters of people as they swarm to one another while she sits back from a distance and watches unobtrusively.  
  
So she knows who Grant Ward is.  
  
Knows all about his playboy reputation and his stupid handsome grin (guaranteed to drop a girl's panties on the third date) and his flashy car.  
  
Knows _all about_ the women who flock to him like they're part of his _harem_ or something equally disgusting.  
  
And she knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she will _never_ become a girl in his phone.  
  
She takes _great pains_ to keep it that way.  
  
Naturally that is when the Universe decides to throw her a curve.  
  
*  
  
Grant knows people.  
  
He knows his way around them, how to get them to do what he wants (and what he doesn't), which smile to use to get a girl and the one to take her home after drinks. He knows all about the reputation he has on campus but honestly… it's not like he didn't earn every bit of it.  
  
It's just that —  
  
He's bored.  
  
He is bored as hell and it's only the second week of the semester and there is literally not one girl in his english class he has not kissed.  
  
It is depressing as hell and a serious damper on his game. (Which is always at the _top_. Always.)  
  
He needs to get laid. (The tried and true solution for these random bouts of dissatisfaction in his life.)  
  
There is a startling amount of noise and the entire class watches as a tiny brunette storms into the lecture room, scowling darkly when she realizes that the only remaining seat is next to him. She glares at him so fiercely that he honestly begins to wonder if he'd slept with her and left things on a bad note.  
  
(Impossible, for two reasons — one, he doesn't leave things on a bad note. _Ever_. It's part of his charm. Two - judging by the build she's got and the _go to hell_ look in her eyes? — he'd _remember_ her.)  
  
"Just so we're clear," she leans in, affording him a nice view of her rack (probably unintentional, but it's been a few days, so he feels perfectly justified in letting his mind _drift_ ), "not even if you were the last man on Earth."  
  
It takes a second for her words to sink in and when they do, he grins so widely it is practically _obscene_. "I guess I'll ask someone else for a pencil."  
  
She raises an eyebrow in challenge — because they both know he wasn't anywhere near asking for a pencil — and says, "Pity you can't find yours."  
  
Grant laughs and the sound of it echoes in the big lecture hall, drawing the eyes of most of their classmates, much to her dismay.  
  
He is really going to enjoy this. Because this? This will be work. This will take _effort_.  
  
And he is no longer bored.  
  
Once again the Universe proves that it loves him.


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which we get a proper update to the fire and water FIGHTING that is skye and ward and also coulson makes an appearance. (sort of.)
> 
> also this takes place a few weeks after part one.

The phone rings twice before she answers it. 

  
" 'lo."  
  
There is a pause on the other end of the line. "Skye. Are you awake?"  
  
 _Phil_.  
  
She screws her eyes shut in frustration, cursing herself for not checking the caller id. "I am," she clears her throat and hopes that the sleep fog will lessen. She would give anything for a cup of coffee right now.  
  
"I just wanted to see how you were doing," Phil sounds like he is doing that thing he sometimes does when he tries to relate to her but it really doesn't work out so well for him.  
  
Skye stifles a sigh and pushes up until she is leaned against the headboard and the room has come into focus. "I'm fine. It's fine."  
  
"You know what fine stands for."  
  
"Mmm hmm." Skye responds noncommittally. Her eyes alight on what might be stale espresso from the day before and she lunges for it, desperate for the caffeine hit.  
  
She spews coffee everywhere.  
  
(Note to self. Stale espresso is never a good idea.)  
  
"— Skye?" Phil sounds extremely alarmed.  
  
"Just went down the wrong pipe," her voice is hoarse from coughing. "I'm gonna go."  
  
"Right."  
  
There is another painful silence and she finally says, "Bye." She ends the call before he can respond and tosses the phone onto her bed.  
  
Days that started like these needed warning labels.  
  
*  
  
Skye stumbles into the lecture hall and predictably, the only seat left is next to Grant Ward.  
  
She rolls her eyes and slides into the chair with a grimace, pointedly ignoring him.  
  
Grant is not used to being ignored and finds that he does not like it very much. He would stare at her for the entire duration of the lecture but she seems disturbingly impervious to it.  
  
He winds up kicking her chair repeatedly until she is forced to turn to him.  
  
" _What_." Skye's face is flushed with barely suppressed anger and her eyes are glinting dangerously. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't more than a little turned on.  
  
"We're going to need partners for the project due at the end of the month —"  
  
She starts laughing. Huge peals of laughter that draw the attention of more than one set of eyes and cause the lecture to come to a screeching halt.  
  
"Something amusing, Ms. Coulson?" The professor is not pleased by the interruption.  
  
Instead of cowering in fear or making excuses, Skye smiles beatifically and rattles off a comment both relevant to the discussion and somehow manages to deflect the attention away from herself at the same time.  
  
It's the kind of evil genius stuff he _never_ would have expected from her.  
  
The matter thus having been settled, the professor returns to his lecture and Skye slumps into the chair ever so slightly.  
  
"That was incredible," he whispers, completely sincere.  
  
She glances at him with an unreadable expression. "Thanks."  
  
When the class ends, she disappears into the crowd before he can pin her down for an answer on anything else.  
  
*  
  
He later finds her in the writing labs.  
  
"So you're a writer?"  
  
Whether it's the curiosity in his tone, or the fact that he'd actually tracked her down, Skye stiffens and sets the pen aside with distinction. "What's your point?"  
  
"It's just really cool, that's all."  
  
She stares at him until he starts to fidget uncomfortably. (No one makes him fidget. What _is_ it with this tiny slip of a girl?)  
  
"This isn't, like, _10 Things I Hate About You_ ," she finally says, folding her arms defensively and hiding her notes. "You and I are aren't going to team up against the entire campus and fall in love."

Someone clears their throat loudly and they look over to see the head adjunct professor glaring at them in warning.

He waits for Skye to counter with more of her evil genius lie spinning but she remains stubbornly quiet.

 _Interesting_.  
  
"I'd settle for a copy of your notes from this morning," Grant is thoroughly amused despite the verbal lashing she has dished out. "If you can spare it."  
  
Skye stares at him some more, as if she can read the secrets imprinted on his brain. (Maybe she can; he's heard some pretty weird stuff about her.)  
  
She wordlessly rips the notes out of her binder and presses them against his chest. "I want these back tomorrow."  
  
"Of course," he says, watching in confusion as she begins packing up her things. "Where are you going?"  
  
"I have to get out of here now that my sanctuary has been," Skye glares at him, " _Invaded_."  
  
It shouldn't bring him so much joy that she is openly sarcastic and appears to _live_ to take him down a peg, but it does. (He wonders if that means something is wrong with him.) It puts him in such a good mood that he automatically charms the next girl who walks over to him.  
  
(The writing labs are fresh territory for him and there are some cute nerds with potential here.)  
  
Just as he is about to exchange phone numbers with her (Amber? Ashley?) a familiar shampoo hits him. (How does he already know Skye's shampoo? It has only been a few weeks since they've met.)  
  
"Oh honey," Skye squeezes his bicep with concern dripping from her voice. "You really ought to get that rash checked out."  
  
The other girl backs up in mute horror and scrambles away before he can explain.  
  
Skye is watching him with a smirk, thinking she has bested him.  
  
Grant shifts, smoothly wrapping his arm around her and pinning her to his side. "You're right, sugarplum. Guess we'd better go to the doctor's and get our results back."  
  
There is murder promised in her eyes but even she does not dare disturb the peace of the writing labs.  
  
Grant only makes it as far as the doors before he is _howling_ with laughter. Skye chucks her English textbook at him and he grunts as it knocks the breath from his lungs. He recovers quickly, grabbing the book and holding it out of her reach.  
  
Even stretched up on her tiptoes, she doesn't come halfway close enough to retrieve it.  
  
"You asshole," she glares at him.  
  
"Be my partner for the english project," he cajoles, raising the book higher even as she begins to lean toward him precariously in an attempt to reclaim it.  
  
"Not a chance."  
  
"Then I guess you'll have to find another book."  
  
There is a long pause.  
  
Skye drops back to her feet, peering up at him through her eyelashes. There is such a look of innocence on her face it is almost disturbing. Before he can ask her what she has planned, she stomps hard on his instep and he stumbles forward, dropping the textbook in shock.  
  
She snatches it from the ground. " _Thank_ you."  
  
Grant looks up in time just to watch her walk off.  
  
He grins anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ come visit me (b-isforbomshell) on tumblr!


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aka; the one where grant gets sick and skye has to... deal with it.

It is a perfectly normal Thursday when it happens.   
  
(Which should have been her first clue; there is so such thing as a _perfectly normal Thursday_. Thursdays by nature are without fail abnormal and abysmal. There is no redeeming them.)  
  
She is so focused on her work that she doesn't hear Professor Blake until he is standing right behind her.   
  
" _Miss Coulson_."   
  
Skye jumps in her seat and yelps loudly.  
  
"I assume you can be entrusted with the task of bringing Mr. Ward his notes for the past two days?"  
  
It seems like the entirety of her classmates come to a screeching halt to hear her response. Judging by the stern set to his face, Professor Blake is not going to accept anything less than total agreement.   
  
She sighs loudly and slouches low in her chair. "I did nothing to deserve this punishment."  
  
"Shall we talk about how you and Mr. Ward have both interrupted my lecture for the past five weeks by your inappropriate laughter and raucous behavior?"

She is going to kill Grant if it is the last thing she does.  
  
Skye shuts her mouth so fast her teeth actually grind against each other.   
  
"I thought not."  
  
*  
  
Even if she hadn't done the legwork of finding out where his room was, it would have been hard to miss.   
  
She just had to follow the adoring backward gazes down the hall where the oversized double suite was located.   
  
There are a ton of flowers outside and a bunch of these weird giant photo montage posters of him. She kicks them aside in disgust and knocks on the door. (What the heck is wrong with people? He's not _dead_. He just hasn't been to class in two days.)   
  
"What are you doing here."   
  
Skye looks up to see Grant swaddled in a huge down comforter so thick and fluffy it engulfs his six foot-plus frame. "You look terrible."   
  
"You sure know how to make a guy feel better," he mutters, abandoning the door to shuffle back to his bed. He falls on the mattress awkwardly and does not move for a good five minutes.   
  
This is weird.   
  
This is weird, and she shouldn't be here and honestly, she just came to deliver the notes he'd missed because Blake had asked her to.   
  
"Have you come to watch me suffer?" His voice is muffled by the comforter, forcing her to come closer so that she can hear him.  
  
"Where are all your friends? And your harem of women? Why isn't anyone taking care of you while you're sick?"  
  
"I don't get sick."  
  
Skye stands above him watching as he shivers violently every few moments. She puts a hand on his forehead. He's burning up.   
  
"Hate to break it to you, cowboy: you're totally sick."   
  
Grant hisses at her and pulls the comforter over his head. Skye lays the notes on his dresser.   
  
"Don't suffocate yourself," she calls on her way out the door. "It's not a good way to go out."  
  
A hand shoots out from the nest of blankets and gives her a one-fingered salute.   
  
*   
  
Skye learns that his roommate's name is Antoine ("call me Trip") and possesses a smile that makes her a little weak in the knees. (Was it a law that all the people in this dorm room had to have panty-dropping grins? What kind of messed up rule of the universe was that?)  
  
"I tried to get him to come home with me for the weekend," Trip calls from his bedroom, where he is hastily throwing his clothes into a duffel bag. "But he insisted on staying here."   
  
"He's a stubborn ass," Skye absently replies, looking at the pictures tacked onto their fridge and blatantly snooping in the cupboards. At least the crackers and soup she picked up won't go to waste. These idiots have no food.   
  
"He is," Trip says, much closer than before. "But secretly a good guy, so I try to keep him alive. Which would be a lot easier if he would come _home_ with me and get some chicken and dumplings…"  
  
Saving her from having to reply comes a muffled, "I refuse to suffer another guilt trip from your mom." Which is promptly followed by a series of sneezes and a really pathetic groan.   
  
Trip sighs heavily.  
  
"No." Skye actually physically _recoils_ from the pleading look in his eyes. "Whatever you're thinking? The answer is _no_."   
  
"I'd just feel a lot better about going away if I knew someone was going to be looking out for him."   
  
She glares at him and folds her arms. "Apparently this guilt trip thing is hereditary."  
  
Trip has the good sense to grin sheepishly at her. "I worry about him. He doesn't like to ask for help. If I didn't have this family thing, I'd stick around and take care of him myself."  
  
Skye pointedly ignores the duvet covered elephant in the room to focus on Trip, who — smug bastard that he is — just spreads his hands innocently and smiles in that disarming way he has.   
  
"Aughhhhh!" She throws her hands up in the air. "For the record, I _don't_ _want_ to do this."   
  
"Way to make a guy feel loved," Grant mumbles, sounding about as cranky and petulant as a two year old who has skipped their nap.   
  
She tries to think of something that will make Trip deem her unqualified for watching over his roommate while he's away. (Trip is disgustingly laid back, so the plan basically fails.)

"Just so you know, I'm drawing the line at sponge baths."   
  
"That's between you two," Trip backs out of the suite, bags slung over his shoulders. "Though I think it's kind of poor form to take advantage of him in this state."   
  
Skye closes her eyes in embarrassment.   
  
"No one ever takes advantage of me anymore."   
  
It is a testimony to how sick he is that Grant can make that statement appropriately mournful. She doesn't even want to know how much practice he's had until he perfected the exact cadence and look to accompany it.   
  
Skye pours the soup into a bowl and heats it up. She grabs a sleeve of crackers and shakes a few loose into a napkin. Then she takes the meal and places it on the nightstand. "Eat up."  
  
Grant frowns at her through bleary eyes and struggles to sit up.   
  
This is weird.   
  
This is still weird and awful and she's getting really sick of people making her do things and feel bad for Grant Ward — who is, in all fairness, looking extremely pitiful at the moment.  
  
She sighs.  
  
"Don't look, perv." Skye leans forward to stack the pillows more securely and pushes him back against them.   
  
He looks.   
  
A ghost of his usual smile appears on his face and she rolls her eyes, flicking him on the arm in retribution.   
  
"Your bedside manner is phenomenal," Grant replies, sipping on chicken soup.  
  
"I'm just here _temporarily_ to make sure you don't _die_ ," she reminds, flashing back to Trip's worried face. "Got suckered right into that one."   
  
"That family is the authority on suckering people into doing things they don't want to do," he frowns darkly.   
  
That something can make the normally mischief seeking idiot in front of her turn into a Grumpus McGee is nothing short of astounding. "Do tell."   
  
Grant reaches for a tissue and blows his nose obnoxiously. Skye pointedly holds up the waste bin. He throws the tissue in and flops back onto his pillows.   
  
"Okay, so this one time we went home to visit Trip's family on spring break…"   
  
*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ headcanons and asks can be found on tumblr (b-isforbombshell) if you need a little extra reading material.


	4. four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka; the one where the universe conspires against skye (again) and we find out a little more of her backstory courtesy of one grant douglas ward. also, trip gets free breakfast but damn it all if the universe doesn't make him work for it.

Two weeks before Thanksgiving, Professor Blake assigns a project about families and the characteristics found within. He tells them of his plans to start a unit after break and match up each group with literature echoing their work.   
  
Of course Skye and Grant are stuck together because Blake has a sick, twisted sense of humor (and apparently the Universe agrees).  
  
*  
  
The whole subject seems to set Skye's teeth on edge and Grant has the feeling that his being her partner (despite their weird truce that had occurred while he was sick) is not exactly bringing out her best side.   
  
"Family is wonderful," He argues, and has been so saying for the past hour and a half. "Support and free food. What more do you want?"  
  
"Arguments could be made that a girlfriend would also fit that criteria," Skye retorts sharply, unable to rein in the annoyance in her tone.  
  
There is a long, awkward pause.   
  
Grant turns in his chair to face her with his undivided attention. "Are you offering?"   
  
She scoffs. "Dream on." He can't help the smile that begins to grow on his face, and Skye hastens to reply, "That's what your harem is for, remember?"  
  
Her statement is one of half-truth (if not more) but he doesn't take offense.   
  
When he doesn't make a move to fill the silence that stretches between them, the tension ratchets up another couple degrees.   
  
Skye frowns. "Why aren't you afraid of me?"  
  
Grant rises and walks over to where she is sitting, caging her within his arms. She holds her breath as his eyes stay locked on hers and he reaches ostensibly for a book behind her head. When he pulls away, the smirk on his face is firmly set. "Should I be?"  
  
She rolls her eyes and aims a punch at his kidneys.   
  
He crumples to the floor and she stands over him, eyes crinkled and smiling triumphantly. "You _shouldn't_ underestimate me."  
  
(She doesn't know that he's been trying to figure out a way to make that haunted look in her eyes go away since Blake assigned them to this project. Her face had gone white and pinched with discomfort, triggering this weird flip flopping sensation in his stomach. He hadn't liked it then, and he doesn't like it now.)  
  
"I don't," Grant coughs, glaring manfully as he gets to his feet. "But you have to admit, there's a violent streak in you that I don't think either of us are really prepared for."   
  
It's almost beautiful the way she shrugs as nonchalantly as any of the vapid girls in their classes. If he didn't know any better (it's amazing that he _does_ know better), he'd chalk the whole thing up to hunger and let it slide.   
  
(Skye has this horrible habit of waiting too long between meals. When she finally does eat — she's a damn truck driver, almost out-eating him pound for pound. If he wasn't so in awe of the process, he'd be a little disgusted; but honestly, it's kind of nice to know that she's into food.)  
  
"I'm prepared for it," she assures him, gathering up her books and papers. "It's a great deterrent to the glares and nasty whispers I receive every time I leave this room."  
  
"About that..." Grant says, wincing apologetically.   
  
"Don't even start," Skye rolls her eyes, tugging on a knitted beanie. "We're not doing the thing where we pretend like every bit of that reputation you have wasn't fairly earned."  
  
It is kind of amazing the way she so effortlessly delivers the truth in neatly-delivered slices of honesty that go straight to his gut and just _settle_ in. He'd be flaying alive anyone else who dared to take such liberties with him but for some reason he just can't summon the energy to respond in kind.   
  
(There has to be a reason she's so damn guarded and he's determined to figure it out.)  
  
Trip just barely manages to dodge Skye as she hurricanes through the doors. "Nice to see you too," he calls after her.   
  
She waves offhandedly and speed walks down the hall until she's out of sight. Shouts of outrage echo in her wake and Grant smiles absently. He knows all too well what it's like to be on the receiving end of that.  
  
Once Trip has gotten completely inside the suite and shut the doors against prying eyes and listening ears, he turns to face his roommate. "Is this going to be a thing? You and her?"  
  
"I don't know," Grant answers truthfully. "But I'm having a lot of fun trying to figure it out."  
  
Trip shakes his head and begins assembling the makings of a truly epic sandwich. "Lord help us."  
  
*  
  
It is well after one in the morning.   
  
There are two mugs of cold coffee on the table, surrounded by notes and pens with the caps chewed off (Grant) and multiple highlighters of varying size and color (Skye).   
  
They've been at it for the last four and a half hours and still aren't any closer to compromising on a family viewpoint.  
  
She sighs loudly and puts her head down on the table. "This is ridiculous. We're never going to finish."   
  
He yawns, rubbing at his eyes. "I think we're almost halfway?"   
  
Her eyes are watering from the strain of being awake and emotionally strung out for too long. Her phone buzzes twice and she glances down at the messages quickly before turning it off completely. When she gets up from the table, her legs go wobbly and it's only Grant's quick thinking that keeps them both on their feet.   
  
"Easy there, champ."   
  
" 'm fine."   
  
"I know," he guides her to the couch and pushes her gently into the cushions. "Take a load off."  
  
"The project," Skye protests, moving sluggishly to dart around him and return to their work.   
  
Grant is careful to keep his abdomen well-shielded from her ninja fists of fury as he shakes his head. "Just close your eyes for a few minutes. Catnaps are good."  
  
"A lazy bum like you would know all about that," She mutters, reluctantly closing her eyes.   
  
Within minutes she has fallen dead asleep.   
  
The difference in her features is nothing short of remarkable; the permanent worry lines in her forehead have melted away into sleep and the brittle tension of her pasted-on smile has finally disappeared. She hums once in her sleep when he turns back to clean up their notes for the evening.   
  
Grant is in the process of washing the last mug in the sink when a boxers-clad Trip comes stumbling out of his room.  
  
"Not sure if you're aware of this, but your florence nightingale/mortal enemy seems to be passed out on our couch."  
  
"Oh?" Grant focuses on putting the dishes away. "Strange. I hadn't noticed."   
  
Trip shakes his head and pads back to his room.   
  
Grant tosses a blanket over Skye haphazardly (he's not going to tuck her in or anything, that is just a little too weird for him) before heading to his room and climbing into bed.   
  
Just before he drifts off to sleep, his phone buzzes.   
  
[ _you have to pick up breakfast_. ]  
  
He groans loudly.   
  
The rule was whoever had brought _company_ back to the suite had to get breakfast the following morning. Grant would have much preferred sending them on their way without a bite to eat but Trip had this weird gentleman streak in him and forced the bargain upon him when they'd first started rooming together.   
  
  
("If I'm going to have to suffer through your parade of women, I'm sure as hell not cooking them breakfast in the morning. You make a run for sandwiches or I'll tell them every embarrassing habit you have. And believe me, I have a _lot_ of ammo against you."  
  
"Wait a second, why am I the one suffering here? You bring girls back here all the time!"   
  
"I treat them a great deal better than you do, too. Take the deal, man."   
  
"…Fine.")  
  
  
And though it is nearly two AM and he is _exhausted_ — he sets his alarm.   
  
…The last thing he needs is for Trip to provide Skye with any sort of ammo against him. She was a hell beast enough on her own strength; that kind of insider knowledge would render her unstoppable.    
  
*   
  
When Grant comes back to the suite in the morning, Trip and Skye are watching morning cartoons.   
  
"Nice to see you two are bonding," He grumbles, juggling the brown paper bag and carrier tray of coffees while he shuts the door.   
  
Skye breezes over and plucks her coffee, nearly upsetting the entire balance of his whole operation. He fumbles to hold onto everything but she's already walking away, guzzling down caffeine and reseating herself. "Where the heck were you, anyway?"  
  
"I was out shopping for _you_." Grant tosses a wrapped breakfast sandwich on the table in front of her. He's misjudged the sheer heft of the bagel and the trajectory of it nearly takes out the coffee tray in the process.  
  
"If you were shopping for me," Skye says, snatching her food up, "You'd still be out."  
  
The glaring match between them is a thing of beauty, honestly.  
  
"Okay so I'm _going_ out," Trip cuts in, literally walking between them to grab his breakfast and coffee. "Because you two give me a headache."  
  
"Only the strong survive," Skye loftily responds, taking a huge bite of her food.   
  
Trip glances back at her bulging cheeks and messy hair. "Uh huh. Try not to kill each other."   
  
Grant raises his coffee in a sarcastic toast and returns to his textbook. When he looks up again, Skye is staring off into space. Her phone is abandoned by her side.   
  
He leans over curiously. "Who's Jemma?"  
  
Flustered and completely caught off-guard, Skye pushes him away firmly. "No one important." She grabs for the phone but he's faster, and she's got the table still between them. "Give me that."  
  
Grant holds the phone aloft, skimming the message quickly. "Why is she sorry?"  
  
"Now looks like a pretty good time for my violent streak to come out," Skye warns, glaring at him.   
  
"I'll take my chances, considering I got you breakfast and all." He looks down at the message. "What did Jemma do?"  
  
"Drop it, Grant."   
  
"But then it'll shatter into a million pieces," he pretends to gasp, tightening his hold on the phone and deliberately misunderstanding her. "And why is she talking about Fitz?"  
  
The anger in her eyes fades into blankness. She takes a deep breath as if to fortify herself and totally shuts him out. He waits for her to try and punch him or make another move to reclaim her phone but Skye just — walks out.    
  
Grant looks down at the phone in his hand and back to the open suite doors in shock.   
  
He had seen her upset before but _never_ like this. Whoever this Jemma chick was had done a _number_ on Skye. (Who or _what_ was a Fitz?)   
  
Going through her messages seemed horribly invasive and even he wasn't that much of a douche. Grant set the phone aside and tried to keep working on the project. It was so much harder without another person to bounce his thought process off of. Without Skye, the whole thing was kind of dead in the water.   
  
She'd come around.   
  
She had to.   
  
…Right?

*

\+ mad props to sarah for giving this a much-needed set of eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEAH THAT WAS NOT WHAT I HAD INTENDED FOR THEM, EITHER. 
> 
> but sometimes life is ROUGH. 
> 
> \+ come find me on [tumblr](http://b-isforbombshell.tumblr.com/)!


	5. five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka: the one where skye takes leave of everyone and everything because her heart hurts too much to deal. (and grant weasels his way in despite her best efforts to keep him out.)

The whole thing has rubbed her the wrong way. 

She's getting too close to Grant and Trip.  
  
They're stupidly nice and weirdly _human_ under all that cocky _boy_ behavior (seriously, if she had to listen to them talk about their little sisters one more time, she was going to freak out) and she can picture _all too easily_ what it would be like to wake up there on the regular.    
  
But she isn't freaking _Jess_ from New Girl.   
  
This isn't TV. This is real life.   
  
Grant- ' _I have a harem of women and i'm always accepting new applicants_ ' -Ward was not going to become her best friend. And Trip, well. He would side with Grant.  
  
It was unfortunate that the bastard had her phone right now but she wasn't about to discuss the cluster that was Jemma and Fitz with anyone.   
  
Especially not Grant Ward.   
  
*  
  
Skye goes through the rest of the day like a ghost.   
  
She skips class. (And she _never_ skips class.)  
  
She avoids the writing labs. (Because she has seen Grant when he's got it in his head to do something and she gives him enough credit to go searching for her there; many a time she has been found out in her little sanctuary and she's not about to make it easy for him now.)  
  
She doesn't go to the cafeteria or anywhere near the commons. Because while it has the benefit of being very public it also has the detriment of being very _focal_. The last thing she wants to do is run into him when they're surrounded by a hundred people or so.   
  
(It's beyond her why people seem bizarrely entertained when they fall into one of their bickering matches but today is not the day for that. She just _can't_.)  
  
When she catches sight of the clock on the tower, she curses. It's been almost four hours and she missed Phil's call. If she doesn't check in with him in the next ten minutes, he is liable to send a search party out for her.   
  
There's a pay phone by First Aid.   
  
(At least this way if there is any bloodshed it can be easily taken care of.)  
  
*  
  
"Nice of you to call." Phil is not pleased.   
  
She can hear the underlying worry and winces apologetically. "My phone has been on the fritz. Sorry."   
  
There is a long, damning pause on the other end of the line.   
  
Phil sighs heavily. "Are you okay, Skye?"   
  
"Never better," she makes an effort to force cheer into her voice, mentally counting down the seconds until she can end the call. She inspects her cuticles while trying to think of what she can afford to tell him. Somehow the truth winds up coming out. "It's just that we have this stupid project on families due next week and —"   
  
"— It's hitting a little too close to the mark."   
  
Sometimes she forgets that Phil isn't the bad guy in her life.   
  
"Yeah."   
  
He sighs heavily. "Do you want to come home?"  
  
"No." Home is a reminder of everything she'd run like hell to leave behind. She doesn't want to insult him, because he's really trying with her, and attempting to understand what it must be like — which is more than she can say for most parental figures in life these days. "I just can't, right now."  
  
"I understand." He sounds oddly calm about it. "You know if you ever —"   
  
"— I know." Skye buts in. "Thanks. Really."   
  
There is some sort of static interference and mumbling on the other end of the line. "I have to go," Phil finally says.   
  
"Okay."   
  
"Let me know if you need a new phone. Or anything."   
  
_He's trying_ , she reminds herself. "Yeah."   
  
They hang up and don't bother with saying goodbye.   
  
Skye forgets where she is just for a moment and rests her head against the wall. She closes her eyes. It had been ages since she felt comfortable enough to stop actively outrunning everything in her life. Falling asleep at the suite had been bizarrely safe.   
  
And it worried her.   
  
*  
  
When she gets back to her room, there is a bundle on the doorstep.   
  
Wrapped inside she finds her phone (fully charged and missing several calls from Phil and texts from Jemma) and a small container of chicken soup. There is also a massive bar of chocolate. It has got to be at the size of her head. He must have gone somewhere off campus to find it because they don't stock chocolate like this on the grounds.   
  
And there is a note.   
  
  
_Trip says the soup is good for your soul and whatever ails you. I say grab a bottle of something alcoholic and scarf the chocolate._  
  
 _Call me. (or don't.)_  
  
  
At the bottom are the day's notes from Blake's lecture and a typed of version of what appears to be the near-final copy of their families project. He had finished it without her and left a few scribbles in the margins with lots of question marks (his personal shorthand for wanting her input).   
  
Skye lets herself into her room and finds herself thumbing a reply to Grant.   
  
He'd programmed himself into her phone as ' _that jackass who worries about your violent streak (sometimes)_ '.  
  
[ _tell trip i said thanks for the soup._ ]  
  
He responds immediately. [ _k. i hve vodka if u need help killing that chocolate bar._ ]  
  
[ _i'm not sharing._ ]

They have joked more than once that her being an only child has rendered her unable to share. (She can't refute it, because it's actually true.)  
  
[ _fair enough._ _need anything?_ ]  
  
She shakes her head in vague disbelief. Just _who_ exactly was Grant Ward? The man with a fully-booked harem shouldn't have had time to find her room, drop off a care package, finish their project and supply her with top notch chocolate.   
  
[ _no. see you tomorrow._ ] And then, because it seemed a little harsh, she added: [ _you were bored out of your mind in blake's class today, weren't you?_ ]  
  
[ _almost didnt survive. if u ever leave me alone in that class again im not responsible for what happens._ ]  
  
And Skye laughs out loud for the first time all day.   
  
She changes into leggings and cozy sweatshirt. Then she puts the soup in the microwave and turns on cartoons.   
  
There is another chirp from her phone and she glances at it warily.   
  
[ _see u tomo._ ]  
  
It would be polite to just respond in kind but she hates when he doesn't spell words out properly. He has a brain under all that arrogance, she's seen him employ it before.  
  
[ _use your words, punk._ ]  
  
[ _and leave u nothing to yell @ me for?_ ]  
  
[ _we both know there is ALWAYS something for me to yell at you for._ ]  
  
[ _trufax. nite little ninja._ ]  
  
It kind of feels like the clamp around her chest has lessened for the first time all day, and she realizes it started when she found the package at her door with the messily scrawled note. Something to be said for that; and so she bargains that she can let this one slide.   
  
[ _good night._ ]  
  
[ _:p_ ]

*


	6. six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka: _the one where skye spends thanksgiving alone (sort of)._

Wednesday morning rolls around far too quickly. It's the day before Thanksgiving and approximately zero percent of the student body gives a crap about what is happening in their classes.   
  
Skye takes advantage of the general confusion to slip into Professor Blake's room with a group of girls who are very animatedly discussing their wardrobe options for their family dinners tomorrow.   
  
Grant's eyes light up when he sees her walk in and quickly make her way over to where he is sitting. He blatantly ignores the female population clustering for his attention and gallantly kicks Skye's chair out for her to sit in.  
  
(Never let it be said that Grant Ward is not a gentleman.)  
  
The clothing discussion ascends to near-screeching levels as it gravitates closer to him and Skye is forced to sidestep a wildly gesturing girl to avoid getting backhanded in the face. She is _just_ barely reining in the urge to claw someone's face off and it's likely that someone will be on the receiving end of her wrath very soon.  
  
"So… slutty tramp or hoebag supreme," she summarizes the ridiculously loud conversation, gratefully taking her seat at last. "Screwed either way."  
  
"No pun intended," Grant chimes in beside her, winking in solidarity.   
  
She opens her books and flicks him on the arm halfheartedly. "Don't _wink_ at me, Casanova."   
  
"I can't help it if I'm naturally charming."   
  
"More like naturally _gross_."  
  
Grant is about to respond when Professor Blake clears his throat noisily in front of them.  "Miss Coulson. Mr. Ward. Care to share with the class?"  
  
It has been thirty seconds if it has been a day — and everything is exactly as it was when she left. It was nice to see that Professor Blake didn't care about her unexplained absence beyond giving her a curious once over.  
  
"I think we'll pass," Skye grins up at Blake cheekily.   
  
"And to think I lamented your absence in that it kept Mr. Ward in line."   
  
"I'm _hardly_ a troublemaker," Grant protests, dramatically playing the injured victim.   
  
"Interesting choice of words, Mr. Ward." Blake shifts his calculating gaze between Skye and Grant. His expression softens ever so slightly before firming into his mask of unimpressed disinterest as he turns back to address the class.   
  
On his way to the front of the class, he passes Skye. "Welcome back, Miss Coulson."  
  
The lecture proceeds with Blake's usual fast-paced manner of speaking and pretty soon they're engrossed in their textbooks to keep up.   
  
Skye looks over to see Grant staring at her. When he doesn't say anything, she punches him on the arm.   
  
He flinches and shoots her a dirty look. "What was _that_ for?"  
  
"Why the hell are you staring at me?"  
  
"I'm not." At her own dark look he amends, "It's just. You're _here_."  
  
"It's Wednesday, you idiot." Her voice is almost fond and she returns her attention to her notes. "Where else would I be?"  
  
*  
  
The campus is like a ghost town.  
  
Everyone has left to spend Thanksgiving break with their families and the majority of the faculty has left for the day. She'd had another awkward phone call with Phil a little while ago —  
  
  
("It's not a problem if you want to come home, Skye —"   
  
"Hey, it's totally fine. You know this was never a big deal for us. I need to catch up on some reading anyway."   
  
"If you're sure."  
  
"I am. Really. It's okay."  
  
"Call me if you need anything."   
  
"Yeah.")   
  
  
— and he would be too busy covering at work all weekend to check in on her. She was kind of looking forward to her unexpected freedom and having the campus largely to herself. (Maybe Grant was right about her sharing tendencies getting _worse_. Perish the thought.)   
  
Skye had begged off saying her goodbyes to Trip and Grant before they left to go home and visit their families because it felt a little… _too_ something.  
  
So she's settling in for the night with a new movie and about to make popcorn when her phone chirps with a message from Grant.  
  
[ _can u go feed homer?_ ]  
  
Skye nearly drops the phone. Who or _what_ is _homer_ and why would she be feeding him?   
  
[ _explain yourself._ ]  
  
He replies almost instantly and she sincerely hopes the idiot isn't driving. [ _we got a pet fish._ ]  
  
[ _…what on earth??_ ]  
  
[ _plz??? peta will come after us if we can't keep it alive a week._ ]  
  
[ _you should have considered that before you got a pet and then proceeded to abandon it for the weekend._ ]  
  
Grant doesn't reply right away and she sighs, throwing off the blankets and getting to her feet. It's going to be a seven minute walk across campus right now and it's cold and the last thing she wants to do is leave.   
  
But there's a fish counting on her.   
  
Just before she walks in the boys' suite, he finally responds.   
  
[ _u sure this isn't about u stuck at school while we're all away?_ ]  
  
Skye deliberately turns her phone on silent and her eyes land on the fish bowl in the middle of the table.   
  
"Just you and me now, Homer."  
  
Homer blinks up at her and swims in a lazy circle.   
  
"Yeah, that's how I feel too."  
  
*  
  
There is a neatly printed list of instructions next to the fish food. (Clearly, Trip's doing.)  
  
She's supposed to feed Homer every four and a half hours.   
  
Just a few flakes of food (which seems grossly inadequate, what kind of a life was that?) but Skye doesn't want to be the one who murdered their fish — there is no way on _earth_ Grant would ever let her live that down — so she dutifully follows the instructions and settles in for the next feeding.   
  
Trip made baked macaroni and cheese before they left for the weekend and told her to eat it or throw it in the garbage if she wanted to miss out on his culinary masterpiece.  
  
(Of _course_ she's eating it.)  
  
Anyway.   
  
Homer is actually pretty good company.   
  
He doesn't talk back and he's happy to listen to her yell angrily at the TV (the boys have over 700 channels on satellite TV and Skye is making up for all the dumb reality shows she doesn't normally have the patience to watch) and she doesn't even have to share her food.   
  
(The mac and cheese is _amazing_ and she's going to be bribing Trip for the recipe when he gets back.)  
  
After the hours have blurred well into the evening and she's given Homer his dinner (was she supposed to put a pillowcase over the tank or something? how would he know when to sleep?), her eyes are starting to close against her will.   
  
She has the presence of mind to glance at her phone before abandoning the idea of going back to her room completely and nearly falls off the couch in shock.   
  
_15 missed text messages and three missed phone calls._   
  
  
[ _i didn't mean that._ ]  
  
[ _r u mad?_ ]  
  
  
— **ONE (1) MISSED CALL FROM** : _that jackass who worries about your violent streak (sometimes)._ —   
  
  
[ _don't b mad._ ]  
  
[ _it was a stupid thing to say._ ]  
  
[ _trip is going to kill me_. ]  
  
[ _tho i might be killing myself if the people in front of us don't speed up sometime this yr. why is everyone incapable of driving????_ ]  
  
[ _no but seriously r u mad?_ ]  
  
  
— **TWO (2) MISSED CALLS FROM** : _that jackass who worries about your violent streak (sometimes)._ —   
  
  
[ _bc homer is really a friendly guy and i think u could b friends._ ]  
  
[ _he's got a great smile & he's a good listener._ ]  
  
[ _hidden depths of wisdom in fact._ ]  
  
[ _but don't do anything 2 fun w/o me._ ]  
  
[ _bc he'll tell me._ ]  
  
[ _my parents have gone overboard with dinner this year. what is all this weird green stuff?_ ]  
  
[ _can people die from spinach overload?_ ]  
  
[ _hey_ _can u look that up?_ ]  
  
  
— **THREE (3) MISSED CALLS FROM** : _that jackass who worries about your violent streak (sometimes)._ —   
  
  
The final message is from Trip. [ _put that idiot out of his misery so that we can all enjoy our break in PEACE and tell him you're not mad, please. ps: how was the mac?_ ]  
  
Skye pinches the bridge of her nose. Trip is right. If she doesn't do something, Grant's crazy enough to put both of them through hell all weekend long. She puts an arm around Homer's glass bowl and angles her phone properly. It's not the best picture, but it clearly shows her and Homer living it up in the suite with an empty bowl of mac and cheese at her elbow.   
  
She sends it to Trip and Grant before she can think better of it.   
  
Grant responds instantly. [ _my homies!_ ]   
  
Half a minute later, Trip chimes in the group message. [ _please never refer to them that way again._ ]  
  
[ _:D_ ]  
  
"Idiot," Skye shakes her head and goes off to hunt down a pillowcase.   
  
Homer will be getting a good night's sleep _and_ stay alive this weekend if it's the last thing she does.   
  
…And maybe she'll go see if she can locate the chocolate stash Grant is always talking about.   
  
* 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ sidebar there is a special au that i have been posting at my [tumblr](b-isforbombshell.tumblr.com) this week and it'll eventually make its way here. 
> 
> BUT if you're curious ~~and impatient like me,~~ feel free to [check](http://b-isforbombshell.tumblr.com/post/103579627110/im-a-saint-when-im-deceiving-everybody-thinks) it [out](http://b-isforbombshell.tumblr.com/post/103642545675/god-forbid-you-hurt-her-twice).


	7. seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka; _the one where grant comes home from thanksgiving early and finds skye staying over in the suite. (and trip explains homer's origin story.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BUCKLE UP. there's feels in this one.

Thanksgiving comes and goes.  
  
Skye gives Homer an extra two flakes with his lunch and considers it a small victory.  
  
(If she gives him one less at dinner, just to avoid gluttony… so be it. No one needs to know. Homer will keep her confidences.)  
  
Saturday passes without much by way of action.  
  
She'd gone back to her room several times to shower and grab a change of clothes — but she'd been worried that Homer needed her and didn't like being so far away — so her showers are more like a 30 second sprinkle of necessity rather than the long, steam-filled variety she prefers.  
  
Then she'd thought: _eff that noise. no more wet hair while i'm hauling across campus_ and she brings her shower caddy with her on one of the return trips.  
  
Homer looks supremely uninterested by this turn of events as if to say _what took you so long_?  
  
Skye favors him with a long, steady look. "Just because we're swapping secrets doesn't mean you get to stare at me in judgment."  
  
With a swish of his fin, Homer turns circles and avoids eye contact until his next meal.  
  
"That's what I thought."  
  
She bites into the large chocolate bar with intense satisfaction and queues up the next episode of _Arrow_.  
  
*  
  
Every so often she will get a text message from Grant.  
  
[ _can you die from carb overload?_ ]  
  
If she doesn't respond right away (hey, Oliver Queen's abs are a thing of _legend_ ) Trip will then pop up.  
  
[ _why is that idiot intent on disturbing my peace and bothering me when we only have these PRECIOUS few days apart to discuss his caloric intake? i am not a girl and just because you ARE doesn't mean you want to hear it either. i swear that boy could talk to a WALL._ ]  
  
Skye giggles and pauses the episode. [ _sounds like he misses you._ ]  
  
The better part of a hour passes before Trip responds. [ _and yet, i'm not the one he's texting incessantly._ ] When she doesn't respond to that, he adds: [ _ps: keep that fish alive or i'll never hear the end of it._ ]  
  
*  
  
Early Sunday morning Skye's phone chirps with a message.  
  
"Seriously, Grant? How are you not hungover right now?"  
  
She blearily swipes to read it, stomach bottoming out when it is not, in fact, from Grant at all.  
  
It's Jemma.  
  
[ _can we talk? I'm so sorry about everything and Fitz and I would really love to come vis —_ ]  
  
Skye deletes the message.  
  
It takes a full six minutes before she can calm the angry _hurt_ racing through her veins and by that point, she is far too awake to go back to sleep.  
  
"People who wake up this early should be shot," She grumbles, removing the pillowcase from Homer's glass bowl. He looks up at her expectantly. She drops in a few flakes of food. "Not my fault. Blame Jemma."  
  
Truer words were never spoken.  
  
She pads over to the espresso machine and turns it on, punching in the correct sequence of buttons that will spit out four shots in quick succession. Skye downs them so fast her throat burns from the scalding heat and she doesn't even notice.  
  
This was shaping up to be the worst Thanksgiving ever.  
  
*  
  
The crack of dawn text/wakeup call leaves her feeling disoriented for the rest of the morning and she sort of sprawls around the suite in a daze.  
  
So when the Grant lets himself into the suite, she freezes guiltily like she's done something wrong. (Which is kind of ridiculous, because she's doing him a favor and watching his stupid fish.)  
  
"I'm back."  
  
He's _early_.  
  
And he's too damn happy about it and she's still _reeling_ from the text from Jemma and it's just — she's mad and itching for a fight.  
  
Skye begins to frown aggressively. All of this runs through her head in a matter of seconds and she opens her mouth and says: "I see that. _Why_ are you back?"  
  
His eyebrows rocket upward. "Because I _live_ here?"  
  
"No, I mean." She blows the hair away from her face, "You're supposed to be with your family."  
  
"And I _was_. But then I left."  
  
"How could you have left your family on Thanksgiving weekend, it's literally like the hugest deal and —"  
  
"— I am a grown _man_ , Skye, and believe it or not, fully capable of making decisions for myself —"  
  
"— family is one of the few things left in the world that are actually _good_ , or were you _not_ here when we slaved over that stupid project in Blake's class; I can't believe you just _walked out_ on them, what kind of _world_ is this —"  
  
"— why the hell are you so _upset_ about it? I was either coming home this morning or a few hours later but I was always _coming_ _back_ —"  
  
"— and you are _not_ a grown man, you are like a grown _MANCHILD_ because you don't understand the value of keeping important commitments and —"  
  
"— you're seriously out of line right now and if you think for a second that I don't keep commitments —"  
  
"— you just take off and _LEAVE_ whenever you don't feel like dealing with something anymore —"  
  
"— Skye, _what the hell_ —"  
  
"— and then make other people take care of the wreckage you've left behind —"  
  
Totally bewildered and struggling to regain the thread of the conversation, he happens to glance at the TV behind her. "— have you been watching _Arrow_ again?"  
  
"… so _what_ if I have?!"  
  
Grant sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You always get like this after you mainline _Arrow_. I thought we cut you off after the season premiere when he walked out on that hot blonde?"  
  
The look Skye shoots him is particularly venomous. "Her name is _Felicity_ and there were _reasons_ why he left and maybe I don't agree with them but —"  
  
"— _Skye_." He places his hands on her shoulders firmly.  
  
She glares up at him and stubbornly juts her chin forward.  
  
Saving him from whatever he is about to say next is the sound of a key in the lock.  
  
Trip clears the doors finally and lets his bags fall to the ground, lifting his eyes upward. "Please, God. What did I do to deserve this torture?"  
  
The tension in the suite dissolves at his dramatic entrance.  
  
Skye bites her lip to hides her grin. "Hey Trip."  
  
Grant's jaw falls open. "He shows up a few minutes after I do and all he gets is ' _hey Trip_ '? What kind of world is _this_?"  
  
She sniffs at him disdainfully. "First of all, he made delicious mac and cheese. Second, he's actually sane." Then she frowns. "And it's been eating at me all weekend, so I have to ask: did you _really_ name your fish after the Simpsons?"  
  
"He was a _poet_!" Trip stops rifling through his things to exclaim in frustration. "A _brilliant_ poet. _Genius_ , years before his time. _Illiad_? _Odyssey_? C'mon you guys, I know you studied classical literature."  
  
Grant shrugs. "It was easy to remember."  
  
Skye rolls her eyes. "And to think it was actually _quiet_ without you around."  
  
"You missed us like crazy, don't even lie."  
  
"You _drive_ me crazy," she mumbles, gathering her things together and stuffing them into her small overnight bag.  
  
Trip gives her a bear hug in both gratitude and greeting. "Thanks for keeping Homer alive."  
  
" _Someone_ had to."  
  
Trip and Grant exchange glances while Skye systematically dissolves all the evidence that she had spent the holiday staying over.  
  
"I'll see you guys tomorrow." She waves offhandedly and slips through the doors before they can stop her. There is only the faintest scent of her shampoo in the air and a random pillowcase on the table next to Homer's bowl to prove that Skye had actually been there.  
  
"So." Trip sits at the table, peering at Homer curiously before looking to his roommate. "Do you know what set her off like that?"  
  
Grant takes in the green-leather clad superhero still paused on the big screen. There is a lone cup in the sink with coffee remnants inside and a suspicious amount of used tissues wadded up in the garbage.  
  
"Not yet." he finally says, staring out the window where he can almost see Skye briskly walking back to her dorm. "But I'm going to find out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ as always, you can find me on [tumblr](b-isforbombshell.tumblr.com/) if you have any thoughts/complaints/concerns.


	8. eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka: the one where skye and grant find out about each other’s families and it sort of backfires… spectacularly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like i should be apologising in advance for this.

  
It's a rare moment where Grant hasn't made it back to the suite and Trip is sautéing something on the cooktop and Skye is just sort of, _existing_ quietly.  
  
Her brain hurts.  
  
She has received no less than three messages from Jemma today (all ignored) and two calls from Phil (one ignored, one taken _just_ before stepping into class and therefore conveniently cut short) and a strange absence of any kind of communication from Grant.  
  
(Blake had assigned a brief review of their families project before he handed out the final assignment for the semester tomorrow. Grant had given her a brief glance and asked if she wanted to come over for dinner so they could go over their work and she'd said yes. He'd disappeared not long after that and she hadn't seen him since.  
  
It was weird.)  
  
She flips through the channels idly, hoping something will catch her fancy.  
  
"You gonna keep cycling through that like you're some kind of animatron or come out here and sample this stir fry?" Trip calls, somehow still managing to look completely masculine with the white apron covering his tee shirt and track pants.  
  
Skye pushes herself up from the couch and shuffles over reluctantly. She sniffs at the aroma coming from the pan and peers at the mess of noodles and veggies. "What is it, again?"  
  
Trip rolls his eyes. "Just open up and stop asking questions."  
  
"Hope I'm not interrupting anything," Grant drops his bag at the door, stepping out of his shoes.  
  
"You wish," she mutters, automatically opening her mouth. She mumbles something around a mouthful of food and gives Trip two very enthusiastic thumbs up.  
  
"Dinner in a few?" Grant pokes his head into the kitchen.  
  
"Yeah," Trip stirs a few more things on the stove. "Go shower. You smell."  
  
Skye heaves a long sigh and flops back onto the couch.  
  
And _this_ is her life.  
  
* * *  
  
All day he's been searching for Jemma.  
  
It would help if he knew just who this Jemma was, or why she caused Skye so much angst. Trip said he wanted no part of this "side mission" into Skye's deep dark past but even he couldn't deny he was curious.  
  
Grant hasn't found anything.  
  
…Except.  
  
He pulls up the internet on his phone and stares at the screen. _Husband and wife crash over Atlantic; leave daughter behind_.  
  
He thinks of his own family; his parents who love and support him (probably more than he deserves); his older brother Christian who always had the best advice for him (even if he was kind of a dick about sharing it); younger brother Thomas who thought he could do no wrong; and his baby sister Rosie who stuck up for him through his stupidest of decisions.  
  
How did a person get through life without a family?  
  
The article went on to discuss more about Skye's Uncle Phil (who he had heard her mention once, very briefly, in passing) but there wasn't much else. The record had been sealed on the crash (it was a total fluke thing; small planes often had engine trouble and the like) but there was a heartbreaking picture of a thin teenage girl with huge brown eyes and a crumpled look on her face that had stuck with him all day.  
  
He knew Skye was kind of bewildered that he'd been so quiet all day long but honestly? Grant didn't know quite where to go from here.  
  
_Hey I know about your parents' plane crash_ seemed like the wrong route to go and kind of made whatever was going on with this whole Jemma business seem a bit insignificant.  
  
Grant showered quickly and tugged on sweats.  
  
He had to pretend like everything was normal.  
  
He could totally do that.  
  
… _Right_?  
  
* * *  
  
"You going home for Christmas?" Trip asks, dishing their food into monster portions before putting them on the table.  
  
Skye silently thanks whoever is listening that she had been too busy to take her full lunch for the day. It smells _amazing_ and she doesn't intend to leave a scrap behind. "No, I —" She pauses, struggling to find the right words. "We don't really celebrate Christmas. We never did."  
  
Trip looks horrified.  
  
She drags a hand through her hair in frustration, trying to get her thoughts in order. "My parents weren't really… around and it just never seemed to be a thing, so."  
  
He frowns at her and opens his mouth as if to protest.  
  
Saving her from the awkward explanations is Grant's reappearance. "Can we eat already? I'm starving."  
  
Skye flashes a grateful look at him and tucks into her food with the type of gusto they've come to associate with her. She is many things and a study in contradictions — but she is always a good eater.  
  
* * *  
  
Not long after they've finished eating, Grant steps away to take a phone call from his younger sister.  
  
"We probably won't be seeing him until after New Years'," Trip says, putting the dishes in the sink.  
  
"Why?" Skye cleans the table and ties up the garbage. One of the boys will take it out when she leaves for the night. They always see her off that way.  
  
"Hell of a commute for him, out to the Hamptons around this time of year."  
  
The world stops.  
  
She purses her lips. Rubs at her temple to relieve the sudden building headache. "I'm sorry. … _What_?"  
  
Trip eyes her like she has grown another head. "The Hamptons? Where Grant lives?"  
  
"I —"  
  
He frowns. "You didn't know?"  
  
"We don't exactly do the thing where we discuss our families," Skye responds testily.  
  
"But you just had that family whole project and —"  
  
"— Let's _not_ , okay?" She drops a stack of glasses on the drying rack. She takes a deep breath and forces it out slowly. Curiosity gets the better of her (as it often tends to do) and she asks, "So they're like… _loaded_?"  
  
He gives her a reproving look. " _Four_ kids. His father's a Senator. Oldest brother is a member of the House of Representatives. They live in the _Hamptons_. What do you think?"  
  
What she thinks?  
  
Her head is about to explode. He's Grant Ward of the _Wards_ from the Hamptons. She knows people who have voted for his _father_. In fact, she's pretty sure Phil voted for _both_ of the Wards this past November. And somehow she's supposed to reconcile this with the guy who lives to drive her crazy in Blake's class every week.  
  
All of this is running in drunken circles in her mind and yet, Skye thinks it's horribly unfair that he's got a perfectly intact family (and _how_ ) and she's got — _nothing_.  
  
Her phone buzzes in her back pocket and she fishes it out. It's a text message from Phil.  
  
[ _Can we talk?_ ]  
  
Phil doesn't usually text her and he prefers calling to any sort of electronic communication. (Seriously, she'd once received a badly composed email and gotten no more than five seconds in before he called and apologized and explained everything over the phone.)  
  
Skye thinks of the information overload she's just received and leaps upon her uncle's request. [ _Give me a few minutes. I can call you._ ]  
  
[ _10-4._ ]  
  
She looks up to see Trip watching her intently and schools her features into nonchalance. "Family stuff. Tell Grant we can go over the project details in the morning. I'll bring coffee if he can meet me in the quad."  
  
The thing about Trip is that he's scarily perceptive and he doesn't push her for more details. "I'll pass the message along."  
  
"Thanks for dinner," Skye says, grabbing the trash. "I'll just take this out on my way home."  
  
When Grant comes back, he finds his roommate eating raw cookie dough on the couch, watching bad reality TV. "Kardashians again?"  
  
Trip favors him with a dark look. "Don't talk to me about my choices, man. You're the one with lies of omission."  
  
"Where's Skye?"  
  
"She got a text message and took off." Trip then relays the information she'd asked. "You didn't tell her about your family."  
  
"Well…" Grant winces. "Not exactly?"  
  
He sighs heavily. "You two _really_ need to work on your communication."  
  
"Rosie and Thomas say hi," Grant looks down at his phone almost guiltily and pockets it without further comment. Then he settles in to watch Kim and Khloe yell about designer clothes. "I can't believe we're watching this."  
  
"I need a break from all the drama in my life," Trip says, raising the volume to drown out any further protests.  
  
Grant tunes out the sounds of women shrieking on the TV and thinks about the information he's discovered.  
  
A break from all the drama sounds pretty good right now. Even if he had to listen to a bunch of shrieking harpies to achieve it.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ you can always find me on [tumblr](http://b-isforbombshell.tumblr.com/) for more about this universe and other things!


	9. nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _aka_ ; the one where skye and grant have their very first h-to-h. (and we _finally_ learn what jemma and fitz did.)

When Grant opens the door the next morning, Skye is standing outside with two travel mugs in her hands. She has on huge black sunglasses, the kind movie stars wear to block the sun and paparazzi.

  
She wordlessly holds out a mug to him.  
  
"Thanks," he takes it, sipping cautiously.  
  
Skye is already walking down the hallway.  
  
He blinks. "Bwh —"  
  
"— Let's go," she orders, disappearing into the stairwell.  
  
Grant has maybe half a second to mourn the loss of his normal waking hours and then he's jogging after her.  
  
(As if there were any other option.)  
  
*  
  
He starts driving and she doesn't tell him to him where they're headed other than a tersely worded, "Just go. Don't stop."  
  
So he drives.  
  
He doesn't stop.  
  
*  
  
After they've been driving for almost an hour, Skye abruptly announces: "My closest friends betrayed me."  
  
It takes everything he's got not to swerve off the road. When he is certain that his voice will remain level and calm (like a normal person), Grant calmly asks, "What happened?"  
  
And Skye's expression twists into a smirk that would almost be attractive if it weren't so bitter. "What _didn't_?"  
  
*  
  
They wind up at a dive bar somewhere outside the state border.  
  
Skye gets them a table and immediately places an order for a double portion of cheese fries and two milkshakes. (While Grant has to question her life choices — flip flops and leggings? it was cold enough to _snow_ outside — he can't fault her culinary decisions.)  
  
"So."  
  
"So." Grant slides his gaze away from the door and meets her eyes. "You wanna tell me what this is all about?"  
  
Completely ignoring the bombshell she'd dropped on him in the car earlier, Skye declares: "My parents died when I was sixteen. Freak plane crash."  
  
He nods and in the spirit of full disclosure, decides to add, "I found out. Yesterday."  
  
Skye lets that mull over for a few minutes and suddenly his disappearing act makes a hell of a lot more sense. She selects a bundle of cheese-laden fries and pops it into her mouth. But if they're talking parents, she has some things she wants to address.  
  
"You neglected to mention your… family life."  
  
"It just." Grant has the decency to wince in apology. "It was nice to have someone who talked to me for _me_ and not because of who my older brother is or what my last name was."  
  
"Trip doesn't seem to care."  
  
"Trip is one in a billion."  
  
Skye drums her fingers on the table and stares deeply into her milkshake as if it holds the answers to the universe. (It is still pretty early. It _might_.)  
  
He counts the fissures in the uneven tabletop. When it seems like neither of them will break the stalemate, she cracks.  
  
"I don't care about any of that."  
  
His relief is almost palpable. "Thanks."  
  
"You're just _Grant_ to me." She fixes him with an very intent look. "You know that, right?"  
  
He nods, and the relief he feels is almost palpable. "Why do you think I kept finding excuses to partner with you in Blake's class?"  
  
"You're a glutton for punishment?"  
  
"Ha." Grant signals their server for another round of fries and pushes the remnants in the basket over to Skye.  
  
"Well," Skye inhales sharply, as if weighing some kind of huge internal decision. "I guess we're going to do this."

(She is _so_ dramatic. He kind of loves it, but —she _is._ )

"Do _what_?"  
  
"The H-to-H."  
  
Despite spending a lot of time with Rosie and being exposed to more than his fair share of females, Grant is totally lost.  
  
The bewilderment must show on his face because Skye helpfully adds, " _Heart to heart_ , loser. Try to keep up."  
  
"Oh, well. If that's all," he gestures widely, throwing in a few hand waves for good measure. "Please proceed."  
  
*  
  
"I met Fitz first. We'd been friends for a couple years, and we both liked science fiction stuff and could play video games for hours and never need a break."  
  
(Privately Grant has to agree that this is a most-worthy skill; Skye often camps out in the suite and kicks their asses regularly and doesn't need to clutter up game time with chatter.)  
  
"Jemma came halfway through my junior year of high school," she sighs quietly and tries to gather her thoughts. "But it was so effortless, I couldn't remember what life was like without her."  
  
With Grant's warm eyes gently encouraging her to go on, she continued, "It seemed natural to introduce them. My two closest friends becoming _friends_ in their own right. And it would have been fine, except."  
  
"Except." His response is both sympathetic and understanding and he nods, getting the picture immediately.  
  
"I wasn't even mad about it," she tries to explain, sitting up taller in her seat. "I _wanted_ them to be together. They're _perfect_ for each other. But they _lied_ to me. Told me they weren't dating, weren't seeing each other."  
  
"And?"  
  
"I caught them." She shrugs. "And I might have left a… particularly worded note on Jemma's car."  
  
"Skye."  
  
She throws her hands up explosively. "Imagine: you have _no one_ and here are these people who you're comfortable with and you've spent so much time with and they just keep _lying_ to you and sneaking around behind your back and it's —"

For some reason, there are tears in her eyes and she doesn't know if this is even _about_ Fitz and Jemma anymore, honestly it just feels like there's too much weighing on top of her and she can't do this anymore and —  
  
Grant drapes his arm over her shoulders and tugs her close. And then, like he's not even aware of doing it, he kisses her temple. "Okay."  
  
So there they sit in a sketchy bar and lean. They just _lean_ on each other.  
  
*  
  
When they're driving back to campus, Skye tells him the rest.  
  
She tells him how awkward it was for the three of them to figure out their friendship as Fitz and Jemma decided to become something _more_.  
  
How Fitz gallantly offered to take her and Jemma on a "date" and then proceeded to devote all of his attention to Jemma. How Jemma ate it up (and on an objective level, Skye couldn't blame her; Fitz was a great guy and when he wanted something, he had a single-minded focus for it that was kind of amazing) and started drifting away from her. How she would get messages from Fitz and then Jemma (or vis versa) because they couldn't figure out their story before getting in touch with her and how _humiliating_ it had been that they felt no need to cover their tracks and instead had just blatantly cut her out of their activities completely.  
  
She tells him about the frantic, repeated phone calls from Jemma when Fitz _finally_ declared his feelings (officially) and how they both expected her to be the mediator between them to sort out the mess they'd created.  
  
How that, of all things, had been the final straw.  
  
"I told Phil I was looking at schools in New York. And here we are." Skye finishes, looking utterly exhausted as she slumps against the window. When Grant just stares at her (alternating glances at the road, of course, because while they both agree that they're going to die _someday_ , a car accident is _not_ how they intend to go out) she raises an eyebrow. "What?"  
  
"I'm just wondering," he glances in the rearview mirror and makes the turn onto campus grounds, "Why you felt so comfortable spilling your guts to me." At the slightly panicked look in her eyes, he hurries on, "Because I dig it."  
  
There is a long pause.  
  
"You _dig_ it," she mockingly parrots. She is biting her lip like it's about to spread into a smile too large to be contained inside the car.  
  
He closes his eyes briefly. "Blew that, huh?"  
  
" _Just_ a little."  
  
"Must have been because someone woke me up _stupid_ early to drive out to the middle of nowhere for some girl talk," Grant drawls sarcastically, watching the as the argument begins to spark life back into her eyes. Then quietly, as if to himself, he adds, "You're kind of dramatic, did you know that?"  
  
She ignores his last statement entirely. "Listen, buddy. What we had was some _next level_ GT; that was a pure H-to-H, my friend. Reserved only for the most serious of conversations and ass kickings. I'm pleased to report that you passed with flying colors."  
  
"GT only makes you more manly." He states with conviction, knowing Trip would (probably) back him up on this.  
  
"It's true," Skye says, in a rare moment of agreement. "But not every dude feels that way."  
  
"Please. As if you expected anything less."  
  
They pull up outside her dorm and Skye gives him a long, thorough look. "No," she says thoughtfully. "I had a feeling you could handle it."  
  
Despite the sudden gravity in the moment, Grant manages to remain calm and turn to her placidly. "Thanks for the milkshakes and fries, ninja."  
  
The first real smile he's seen all day blooms on her face. "Thanks for being you." She darts forward to peck him on the cheek and pretty much runs out of the car.  
  
He sits there for a minute, trying to get over the shock of the day's events until a text message startles him out of the moment.  
  
[ _don't just idle out there like a creeper or i'll have to call campus security on you._ ]  
  
It was nice to know that some things would never change.  
  
[ _cya tomo ninja_. ]  
  
He heads back to his dorm, grateful that at this hour Trip will be asleep and not ask any questions about his disappearing act. After the day they'd had, he was just not in the mood to deal with any kind of third degree (even if it was coming from his friend).  
  
His phone beeps.  
  
[ _one day, you will use ALL of your words. and i will be so proud._ ]  
  
[ _ill try not 2 disappoint u 2 much until then._ ]  
  
Skye doesn't reply for a while and it isn't until he's about to fall asleep that he checks his messages one last time.  
  
[ _you never do._ ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope this has explained a couple things. first of all, skye is a very guarded young woman. she's basically been on her own for years. then she has the two people she cares about most lie to her face and expect her to sort out her mess. finally, her parents aren't around to guide her through any of it, so yes, she is a little dramatic but she's also very, very hurt. 
> 
> feel free to reach out to me on [tumblr](http://b-isforbombshell.tumblr.com) if you have any questions... hopefully the build up was worth it!


	10. ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka: _the one where skye receives a very interesting visitor when grant goes home for winter break and we meet the rest of the ward family in their natural habitat._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ so i heard there was a RUMOR you guys wanted some college au...  
> \+ sorry this TOOK SO LONG

It’s the Tuesday before Christmas and exams are finally over.

Skye walks out of Professor Blake’s class feeling like a train has hit her — the essay they were to complete for the writing portion of the test was a total blindside and had to go somewhere else in her head to finish it without either ripping off someone’s head or bawling hysterically.

(She’s never really had a middle ground when it comes to this sort of thing.)

She is so consumed with holding it together and not falling to pieces that she slams into another person without warning.

"Whoa." The arms that come around her are strong and familiar. " _Easy_ , Skye.”

Skye looks up to see Trip smiling at her gently. Students are rushing by on both sides, eager to begin the winter break and get the heck out of dodge.

"Hey," She takes a deep breath and pastes on a smile. "What’s up?"

"You okay?" He gives her a reassuring squeeze on the arm, unfazed by the myriad of students streaming past.

"I’m great. Never better."

"You _do_ realize that you have no poker face, right?” Trip raises his eyebrows, shifting so that he can shield her from the angry mutters and jabbing elbows.

Skye slants him a half-hearted glare. “Antoine. Can I _help_ you?”

At her piercing tone of voice and use of his first name, Trip grins widely and nods his head slowly. “You don’t know yet, do you?”

The _don’t mess with me_ vibe that she had slowly been pulling on like invisible armor falters, leaving her feeling uncomfortably exposed. “Know _what_?”

"Grant’s supposed to ask to take care of Homer while we’re away."

The irritation of having to deal with Grant’s absence is not the worst thing in the world but then the rest of Trip’s statement hits her. “Wait,” her jaw drops. “You’re _both_ leaving?”

"Last minute flight back home to Savannah." Trip winces sympathetically. "Had to take it. Sorry."

Now she notices the large duffel bag at his feet and lack of books. He is on his way out to the airport now and she’s holding him up.

"No, no," Skye waves a hand distractedly, trying to get her thoughts in order. "I just —" She blinks rapidly, trying to dispel the weird prickling at the corners of her eyes. She takes another deep breath and flashes a wide grin at him. "I’m going to go murder your roommate now. Hope you guys have your life in order."

Trip drags her into a last minute bear hug, catching her totally off guard. “Give him hell,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

Skye halfheartedly shakes him off and blows him a kiss. Then she sets off at a determined stride and Trip watches as students hastily clear out of her way or are taken down by her _take no prisoners_ attitude.

*

Grant is stuck between packing more tee shirts or wondering if the space is better spent hauling the rest of his dirty laundry back home. He hears the door crash open, followed by a slam and heavy footsteps that stop suddenly.

Skye is standing in the doorframe, strangely quiet.

"Oh good, you’re here." He holds up two ties. "Do you think the blue or the red goes better with my blue suit?"

She raises an eyebrow. “Something you forgot to tell me, _Grant Douglas_?”

She just used his middle name.

 _Shit_.

"You…" He gradually realizes that she’s not quiet. Skye’s actually looking _really_ pissed off. He rapidly shifts gears, mentally backtracking to figure out what had brought this on. “…hate both of these options?”

Skye rips the ties out of his hands, blindly throwing them aside. “Are you joking right now? _Now_ , when you neglected to show up for your final exam and I had to find out from Trip that you’re both not going to be around which means you still have yet to ask me if I’ll watch Homer and what if I was _also_ going home? Did you think of that?”

Grant takes a deep breath. “Skye.”

“ _Don’t_.” She glares at him and puts her hand up.

(They both ignore the fact the way it trembles slightly.)

It costs him to keep silent but he doesn’t particularly like the wild way her eyes are darting around the room, as if she’s afraid she’ll burst into tears if she look at any single thing for long.

Skye exhales soundlessly as if she is trying to expel all the frustration in her body without actually revealing how much they both know it hurts her to be the one left behind. Then she bends and picks up the red tie, handing it to him gently. She still doesn’t look happy but at least she doesn’t look like she’s about to take his head off. “Wrap it in tissue paper so it doesn’t get wrinkled.”

"I don’t have any —"

"— Check the top shelf in your closet." She walks out and he hears the TV turn on loudly.

Grant sighs loudly.

He probably could have handled that better.

(There _is_ tissue paper on the top shelf, too. Weird.)

*

It takes him another fifteen minutes to finish packing — it was amazing what he was capable of when he knew Skye was waiting for an explanation just outside his door — and then he’s dropping his bags at the front door.

She glances up at him expectantly and raises her eyebrows.

"I took the exam yesterday," Grant says, moving until he can lean on the edge of the couch where she’s seated. He doesn’t want to spook her, even though it would certainly make _him_ feel a lot better to drag her into his arms for a hug. “I wasn’t sure how long it would take and I knew I would be leaving early today. Blake agreed to it as long as I didn’t tell anyone.”

When she doesn’t say anything, he nudges her with his foot. “Skye. How’d you do?”

Skye clenches her jaw against what looks like a startling wave of emotion and keeps her eyes trained on the carpet. “It was awful.”

Grant thumbs off the TV and slides down to sit next to her. “I’m sorry.”

 

(And it’s:

_i’m sorry i didn’t warn you about the exam_

and

_i’m sorry everything is such a cluster with fitz and jemma_

and

 _i’m sorry we’re leaving and you’re going to be here for two weeks without us._ )

 

Skye exhales loudly and they both pretend not to notice the way his shirt dampens from beneath where her head is pressed against his shoulder.

He has to get in the car and leave soon if he wants to make it home at a halfway decent hour. It’s a good four hours out to the Hamptons and that is without any holiday traffic. The commute is going to suck.

Grant reaches for the remote and queues up Netflix. He makes a face at all the _Arrow_ and _Veronica Mars_ episodes. Skye has clearly been in their account and it’s causing their recommendations list to resemble something truly frightening.

"You wanna watch a couple episodes?"

"Shouldn’t you be leaving soon?"

He smiles despite the fact that she can’t see it. Her sarcasm coming back was a sign that things were looking up. “Want to get rid of me already?”

Skye slugs him weakly. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. I just thought that was the whole point of you taking the exam early.”

He makes a show of glancing at his watch. “I’ve got a few hours to kill.”

She wrestles the remote from his grip and selects _Veronica Mars_.

When he groans loudly, she elbows him in the side. “This is your penance.”

Grant rolls his eyes and mumbles something about _bloodshed_ and _continents_ and doesn’t even pretend like he’s getting home before three in the morning.

(It’s still worth it.)

*

The suite is bizarrely quiet without the boys around.

Grant had left at some obscene hour last night after watching the second half of Veronica Mars, season two. She vaguely remembers him helping her climb into bed and the feeling of being kissed on the forehead. It’s a blur after that and she’s just been puttering around after feeding Homer breakfast.

There is a knock on the door, startling her out of the Sailor Moon cartoon-induced coma she’d been in since about seven that morning. She blinks down at the blankets covering her and wonders if it’s worth getting up and what the odds are of whoever is on the other side of the door going away any time soon.

"C’mon Grant, I know you’re in there."

Skye pauses the anime and shakes her head. Grant really needs to get a handle on his harem. This, right here, is a perfect example of how badly things have gotten out of control.

She yanks open the door to see a tallish guy with a Yankees cap covering a good portion of his face. “ _Yes_?”

"Hello," he purrs, giving her a thorough once over. "I don’t believe we’ve met."

His particular brand of charm leaves something to be desired (and is also weirdly familiar?), and she has no problem leaning against the door and denying him entry. “Something I can help you with?”

"Depends. Do you know where Grant is?"

"It’s Christmas break." Her voice is unamused and it should probably be wrong that it feels this good to unleash her sarcasm on some unsuspecting victim — but the boys have been gone since yesterday and she’s only had Homer to talk to.

"It is," the mystery caller slowly agrees, a smile curling on his face.

(And she can’t deny that he has the _attractive_ thing going for him.)

"So clearly," Skye sighs in frustration, crossing her legs at the ankle and leaning against the doorframe. "He’s not here."

"What a shame," he drawls, and there is something in his eyes that tells her she could probably spend her whole day arguing with this character.

When it becomes apparent that they are at a stalemate, she finally straightens up and claps her hands together firmly. “Maybe you should call next time,” Skye suggests, turning around and closing the door in his face.

She hears his laughter echo down the hall for a good two minutes.

*

Grant has never been more relieved and annoyed to be home in his entire life.

After getting in around 3:30 that morning, he’d slept until almost lunchtime and feels weirdly groggy and disoriented. He hadn’t pulled an all night drive like that since he was still in high school.

While he’s glad to be with his family and happy not to have to worry about anyone asking for weird favors or girls wanting to go out on dates (Skye laughs harder every time this happens — it’s more than a little disturbing, to be honest), he also feels like he should be back at the campus, making sure she’s okay.

Logically he knows that she’s one of the toughest people he’s ever met but after the big reveal of what’d happened to her parents and the whole mess with Fitz and Jemma… he kind of understands the way she lost it on him after finding out that he and Trip would both be gone for the two week break.

[ _hav u heard from her?_ ]

Trip doesn’t answer immediately, which isn’t unusual when he’s home with his family. [ _if by her, you mean SKYE — no. you really dropped the ball on the winter break thing, man._ ]

He groans, rubbing both hands over his face. [ _i kno. i’m gonna make it up 2 her._ ]

The rest of his family comes to sit at the table and Grant reluctantly turns his phone over. He needs to make sure Skye and Homer are okay but it’ll be a complete can of worms if anyone in this family finds out that his closest friend is a _girl_. Since Christian so far has declined to pursue anyone seriously, their mother has been after him to start dating for what seems like _ever_. The last thing he wants to do is subject himself to the Spanish Inquisition.

"So." Mom pushes the salad and asparagus down to where his brother are sitting, giving them pointed looks. "Have you met anyone?"

The three boys look at each other with a lifetime of silent conversations under their belts. Grant doesn't actually know how his younger brother is looking so bright and _awake_ right now — Thomas had gotten in after him, sometime late morning and doesn't look half as exhausted as he feels, having lazed around all day. Christian shakes his head minutely while Grant gives his younger brother a barely masked look of pain. It is unspoken that Thomas will take the fall for this one. (Thomas is such a manwhore that he makes Grant look like a saint.)

(Actually, Thomas learned everything he know _from_ Grant — and he’s pretty much who Grant _was_ prior to college and mellowing out, so that might not be an entirely fair statement.)

"Well," Thomas grins wolfishly, obviously thinking of someone quite special indeed. "There was this _one_ girl.”

The entire table collectively groans.

"What a surprise," Dad remarks, while sharing a look of disappointment with Mom.

"Keep it in your pants," Christian dryly advises as he reaches for the garlic bread.

Thomas makes no attempt to hide the mischievous grin on his face. “I think I really hit it off with this one.”

" ‘ _This one’_? God, I can’t believe I live you with neanderthals,” Rosie sighs, shaking her head. “I needed a sister.”

"Maybe you’ll get one someday," says Grant, flashing Thomas a grateful look while feeling slightly relived that he’s not quite as whorish. (Maybe he and Christian should stage an intervention?)

The conversation flows much easier after that and pretty soon it is like he hadn’t been away at all.

His phone buzzes quietly and he drops it into his lap to see a message from Skye.

[ _your harem problem is getting out of control. some dude showed up for you this morning._ ]

His eyes widen in alarm. [ _WAT_. ]

[ _USE YOUR WORDS I KNOW YOU CAN_. ]

[ _r u sure he wsnt lost?_ ]

[ _he asked for you BY NAME. definitely wasn’t lost. don’t worry — i took care of him._ ]

Grant smiles warmly. [ _that’s my girl._ ]

He looks up to find Mom staring at him. He doesn’t like the gleam in her eyes.

"So, uh. That was Trip. He says hi." Grant rubs the back of his neck and tries to exude serenity itself. (Judging by the look on everyone’s faces, it’s not working.)

"So." The unbridled glee on Thomas’s face worries him. "What’s her _naaaaaaame_?”

Rosie turns to him, delighted. “There’s a girl?!”

Christian sighs and claps him on the back in faux-sympathy. “You really need to work on your poker face.”

Grant glares at him and mutters, “Thanks for the support.”

His older brother shrugs. “Not my fault you can’t lie worth a damn.”

The conversation is going _nowhere_ and the rest of the family is almost salivating at the thought of this hypothetical girl in question.

Grant puts his hands up cautiously and makes sure he is speaking very clearly. “She’s _just_ a friend.”

The table dissolves into sheer pandemonium.

"Good job," Thomas whispers from behind his chair. Mom is almost making arrangements to have the guest room cleaned and properly aired out. She’s also checking the nearest venues suitable to small parties and Grant is just, staring helplessly and shaking his head.

He feels a hand slip into his and looks to see Rosie grinning up at him. “I bet she’s awesome.”

"She is," Grant admits.

(That, at least, is not a lie.)

"But she’s really _just_ a friend.”

"The best ones start out that way," Rosie winks as she slips her asparagus onto his plate, knowing he will still eat them after all these years. 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ [tumblr](http://b-isforbombshell.tumblr.com)  
> \+ major props to sarah and lizzie for helping me with this BEAST.


	11. eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **aka** : _aka; the one where something terrible happens and skye has to deal with the fallout while grant is away. she make not make the best of choices. there may be a rescue involved. (trip may regret answering his phone.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ for those of you who haven't read it already, the [fight/breakup skye fitzsimmons scene](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3418715) has been posted.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Winter out in the Hamptons is _cold_.

Hardly as glamorous as its summer counterpart and basically condemning everyone inside for the duration of the season. Even going for a run is out of the question when the cold stabs like knives in your lungs.

That basically leaves eating and vegging around the house.

…Grant is starting to get cabin fever (and he's not the only one). There's a reason he doesn't spend long periods of time exposed to his family (mostly Thomas) these days. Not when they're all cooped up like this.

He is in the middle of fixing a BLT sandwich when his phone rings. Skye's picture (that he got when she wasn't prepared, so it's basically just a shot of her hands covering her face) lights up on the screen.

Grant wipes the tomato slime off his hand and thumbs open the call. "How are my homies?"

"Never call us that again."

"It's a legitimate question and, more importantly, a very honest categorization of you and Homer."

There is a long pause. "Who are you and what have you done with my lazy partner and his utter disdain for using his words?"

"I can use words when it suits me." He switches the phone to his other ear and shakes open some chips onto the plate. "How's it going there?"

Skye exhales noisily. "Pretty quiet. There's some kind of decades dancing thing happening this week. Like three girls have already called for you to take them."

"I love dancing! You should go," Grant doesn't even bother hiding the amusement in his tone. They both know Skye had given hell to the girls in question.

"I _don't_ dance, you idiot."

"Something we're going to be working on."

A loud smacking noise suddenly draws his attention.

Thomas has his arms wrapped around his own shoulders and is pretending to make out with himself in an attempt to impersonate Grant while he's on the phone.

Somehow his entire family all know when he's talking to Skye.

Grant makes a face of disgust and turns away. "I have to go. The natives are getting restless."

"Godspeed," Skye laughs and hangs up before he can reply.

He stares blankly at his phone and then looks up at his idiot brother — who has now lifted his head and grins evilly.

"You're sick. I'm pretty sure you were dropped on your head repeatedly as a child."

"Grant has a _girlfriend_ ," Thomas sings teasingly, eyes widening when Grant lunges for him in a burst of movement.

Thomas grabs Christian from where he sits nearby and clumsily pushes him into Grant's path, escaping off for the back of the house and heading down to the beach before he can be caught.

Christian clears his throat and dusts off his pants. "You two are ridiculous."

Grant fixes a steady glare at the beach and the rioting ocean in the distance. "He is going to regret saying that."

"You know you're only making it worse," Christian absently reminds him, turning his attention back to the Congress briefings he'd been studying. "You weren't much better when you thought I had a girlfriend."

*

The campus is quiet the week after Christmas.

There's a skeleton staff floating around — not everyone had a home to go back to, or even _wanted_ to — and an almost camaraderie between the remaining students that frequent the Student Life Center and other common areas.

Skye mostly keeps to herself.

It's not that she doesn't want to talk to people (okay, so, she _doesn't_ ) but there aren't many things she really needs to venture outside of the suite for. She still makes the trek between her place and the boys' every day to make sure she can stay on top of her laundry and keep up the delusion that she _hasn't_ totally moved in during their absence but it's always Homer that brings her back at the end of the day.

(At least, this is what she keeps telling herself.)

So after she's fed Homer for the morning and pulled on her last pair of clean leggings and a hoodie she filched from the boys laundry basket, she puts on her flip flops to make her daily trip back to her dorm. (She really needed to stop leaving her Uggs behind.)

"Skye!"

She turns to see Professor Blake hurrying after her. "Professor."

"I've been trying to get in touch with you all day."

Professors ( _former_ professors) don't usually attempt contact beyond a semester unless they're trying to pull for a post-course study or extra credit within the department.

Unease snakes through her as she tries to remain calm.

Her eyebrow raise. "Something wrong with my exam, or…"

Blake gives her a serious look and takes a steadying breath. "Skye, it's about your Uncle. There's been an accident."

Everything is kind of white noise after that.

*

When she comes to, she's laying in the Infirmary.

 _Phil_.

She rushes to her feet and nearly crumples again. It's a serious blow to her pride that she has to basically _fall_ back onto the cot they'd placed her on.

There is a quiet knock at the door and Professor Blake walks in.

"I'm sorry." He slips his hands into his pockets. "I handled that badly."

Skye takes a deep breath and attempts to marshal her thoughts. "Phil. Where is he — what's happened? I have to go there, I don't even know _where_ he is or —"

" _Skye_." Blake interrupts her sharply. It's the same tone he would use to interrupt rowdy students in his lecture hall. "He's in critical condition at a hospital not far from home. They aren't allowing visitors. The security is so tight that it's damn a miracle they managed to get a call out to the University in an attempt to locate you."

"I don't —" Her mouth opens and closes gracelessly. She gropes for whatever she knows about her uncle's work that would involve the kind of hospital security Blake is telling her about. This makes absolutely no sense. "He has a _desk_ job."

"It was an accident." When her angry eyes shoot up to him, Blake raises his hands in surrender. "That's all they would tell me."

"So what _exactly_ am I supposed to be doing now?" She can't curb the bite in her tone or the terror that's racing through veins.

Somehow Professor Blake doesn't even bat an eye at her frustrated anger. "You wait."

"That's not —"

"Skye," He firmly interrupts, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "We don't really have a choice here."

All of the breath in her body comes whooshing out and it feels like her heart has just been clenched into the fist of a giant. She can't even _think_. How is she supposed to _wait_ around and pretend like everything is okay when everything in her is screaming to go to Phil and be at his side?

"If you try to go to the hospital," Blake continues, almost eerily reading her thoughts, "They won't let you see him."

"I should have called him yesterday," She stares up at her former professor in delayed shock. "I just. I thought…"

Everything feels like she's moving through quicksand and she can't figure out which way is up. _Why can't she get back to up?_

"Is there anyone I can call for you?" The professor's eyes are kind and understanding in a way that she can't quite grasp right now.

"No." She shakes her head dully. "There's no one."  

*

He hasn't heard from Trip or Skye all day.

It's probably nothing (Trip isn't the sort to text him throughout the day, especially not when he's with his family — and Skye is fiercely independent) but there's a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach that's telling him to head back to campus.

"Grant," Mom reaches up to kiss his forehead. "Please drive safely."

She's worried that he's cutting his vacation short but not going to comment on it because she is _amazing_ and she knows that if it wasn't important, he would stay.

Arms wind around his waist and he smiles. "I'll be back in a few weeks, Ro."

"I'll miss youuuuu," she squeezes tightly, beaming up at him. "Bring presents."

"You're such an opportunist." He laughs and nods to Dad over Rosie's head.

"My older brothers taught me everything I know," Rosie primly answers, putting her nose in the air. She kisses his cheek and finally lets him head out to the truck.

"Text us when you get there," Mom calls, her eyes not missing the jerky, impatient movements as he throws his bags into the back and gets behind the wheel.

"I will," Grant promises. He lifts his hand in a wave goodbye and pretends not to notice the middle finger that Thomas is waving at him from the side of the house.

Some things never changed.

*

She makes it back to the suite in a daze.

Feeds Homer. Turns on a few lights. Stares at the table.

Nothing makes sense.

How can Phil have been hurt and by _who_ or _what_ and in _what_ _universe_ don't they allow people's family to visit them? This makes _no sense_.

Skye releases a scream of frustration and slams her fist on the table. Papers fly loose and scatter to the floor. She picks them up and methodically begins stacking them back into place until the last one catches her eye.

It is a terrible enough idea that it is basically guaranteed to take her mind off things.

"Well," She gets to her feet, dusting off her hands and knees. "It's not like I have anything else to do."

*

All Trip wanted to do was get some sleep.

It was late and he'd flown in on standby in some middle seat with absolutely no leg room and a wailing baby on his other side and his patience is now at an all time low. He almost snarls at the bouncer at the door.

"You _don't_ want to mess with me," Trip cautions, throwing up a hand and plowing through several underage students to take in the view.

He was so close. He had almost been in _bed_.

But no. Some idiot from his Sociology class had texted him that there was an absolute _scene_ happening at the bar just outside campus and that if he cared at _all_ about his social life and continued existence, he'd get there ASAP and not risk being a social pariah forever.

Trip weaves between a drunken frat boy and the equally soused sorority girl keeping him company, makes his way to the bar and finally gets a drink. He thanks the bartender and turns back to the chanting crowd.

And drops the glass in his hand.

"Shit."

*

Skye loves life.

She loves the people who are helping her stand up, she loves the nice boys who keep buying her drinks, she loves the way the music pulses in her veins. She loves how she can feel her heart beat in her throat and echo in her head and how nothing hurts at all.

She throws her hands up in the air and sways from side to side and doesn't think about anything.

She doesn't think.

*

It takes two fumbling tries for Trip to get his phone out and dial Grant while he shoulders his way through the crowd.

Before Grant can even say hello, Trip starts yelling. "Get your ASS over to the bar _RIGHT NOW_ we have a _situation_."

"What? Trip — I can barely hear you and —"

Trip shouts the magic words that he know will get Grant there ASAP. " _Your girl is in trouble_."

Despite the heated protests from the guys who are keeping their hands on Skye's legs while she attempts to climb on top of the bar table, he manages to wrap a strong arm around the back of her knees and catch her as she falls into his chest.

"Heyyyyyy handsome." Skye bats her eyelashes at him coquettishly. "Did you want to buy me a drink?"

Trip closes his eyes and prays for strength.

*

Keeping Skye in place is like trying to wrestle an octopus.

Every time he thinks he has her contained, she sneaks a limb out and pinches or tickles him and he's forced to loosen his grip. He just about has her seated on the bar stool when his phone lights up with Grant's picture.

"Thank _god_ ," Trip exclaims in relief. "Where the hell are you?"

"Where the _HELL_ are _YOU_?"

"I'm over by the exit with the —" Trip whirls around just in time to see Skye go stumbling off to the bar on the other side. " _Dammit_."

Suddenly a strong hand clamps onto his shoulder. Grant looks stressed — to put it mildly.

"Where _is_ she?"

A loud shout goes up through the entire room and they both turn to see Skye dancing on top of the bar, waving her hands loosely and swaying to the music.

Between the heels she's somehow managed to keep on and the slick lacquer of the bar, it's a miracle that she hasn't fallen and broken her neck.

Grant swears under his breath and takes off at a clipped pace, blowing through underclassmen and frat boys like they're nothing.

When he makes it to the bar, he cups his hands around his mouth to shout up to her, "I thought you didn't do this?"

Through the haze and alcohol fog blurring her mind, Skye teeters alarmingly until she can clearly make out his face. "What are you _doing_ here? I told all those girls you weren't coming." There is a beat of silence and then a filthy smirk breaks across her face as she starts laughing to herself.

"Wildly inappropriate to the bitter end," Grant murmurs under his breath, unable to keep from smiling. "What do you say we get out of here?"

Skye steadies herself and rises back up to her original dancing height, kicking the odd martini and beer along the way. She shakes her head so that her hair flies out wildly, clearly enjoying the sensation. Then she reaches her hands out to him and wiggles her fingers invitingly. "Shut up and dance with me!"

Grant bites his lip to keep from laughing. He's never seen her like this before.

As if someone can hear her loud demand, the music cuts into a [club version](http://b-isforbombshell.tumblr.com/post/111836455595/if-anyone-is-wondering-what-skye-is-dancing-to-in) of _Shut Up and Dance With Me_.

"My _SONG_!" Skye screams, stamping in excited circles on the bar. She nearly topples twice and he lunges to intercept any flailing limbs.

"Since _when_ ," Grant retorts, patiently holding his arms out until she has finished blowing kisses to the bar patrons and jumps to him. "Ooof." He gets a hand under her knees and she won't stop wiggling in his arms. " _What_ are you doing?"

"DANCING! You said I should!"

Not for the first time, Grant wonders what has pushed her this far over the edge. "Maybe save it until we get back home?"

"I'm not _that_ kind of girl, Long Island." The nickname rolls off her tongue in a tipsy giggle.

She's moving so much that he can barely walk. "Okay," Grant says, deciding to change course. "Let's try this a different way." He pauses long enough to sling her over his shoulder and ignores the delighted laugher and not so quiet remarks she makes about her change in view. "You are gonna be in so much pain tomorrow."

Skye is humming under her breath from where she hangs over his shoulder.

"Hey." Trip has somehow managed to find her purse and pulled off her heels. "I'll meet you guys back at the suite."

Grant nods and then has to slap a hand on top of Skye's butt to keep her from falling off his shoulder. "I just hope we make it there alive."

*

He gets Skye out of the truck and into the suite with very little trouble. She's gone weirdly quiet and still hums brokenly under her breath.

Trip has thoughtfully left the kitchen light on and stacked Skye's purse and heels on a chair in the living room. Considering how exhausted his roommate had looked when he'd arrived at the bar, Grant is surprised that he even brought her things inside and didn't leave them until tomorrow. (Constant reminder that Trip is a good man. If he didn't like him so much, he'd have to hate him.)

Grant takes a moment to situate himself once they get into his bedroom because it smells a little bit like Skye's shampoo and he isn't sure why that's hitting him so distinctly right now. Then he notices how his bed has been neatly made and the pillows are stacked with precision in a way he has never quite seemed to master.

He has a suspicion that Skye has been sleeping in his bed.

A suspicion that soon turns into fact when he gently lays her down and she settles into the left side as naturally as breathing. She doesn't even hesitate.

He pulls the covers over her and brushes the hair out of her face.

She sighs and mumbles softly. "Don't leave."

"Skye —"

"Everybody leaves," she slurs, leaning into his hand. "Or they get hurt and it just…"

Something wet touches his thumb and he slowly realizes that she's _crying_. Every cell in his body goes to red alert. He doesn't know what to do with a crying Skye. She _never_ cries. She's so strong, all the time and —

A light snore interrupts his panicked thoughts.

She's asleep.

He sags with relief. _Thank god._

Grant takes a deep breath and gets to his feet, finding the Advil and a fresh bottle of water. He places both by the windowsill. Then he takes one last look at the girl sleeping in his bed and wonders what the hell made her so upset.

"I'm not going anywhere." He kisses her forehead gently. "Sleep it off, champ."

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ [tumblr](http://b-isforbombshell.tumblr.com).  
> \+ WHILE I HIGHLY RECOMMEND LISTENING TO THE ORIGINAL, [the club remix of shut up and dance with me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R5q97rXw5P4) IS ALWAYS APPROPRIATE.


	12. twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **aka** : _the one where things start to hit the fan (and grant realises he’s in over his head)._

Morning comes with a painful quickness.

It feels like he’d _just_ closed his eyes and there’s something horribly important that he’s forgetting right now and —

Grant turns over and nearly falls to the ground.

 _Right_.

He’s on the couch.

…Why _is he on the couch_?

Everything rushes back like a freight train. _Skye. Dancing. Carrying her out of the bar. Putting her to sleep. Skye crying. Telling him everyone leaves._

He scrubs a hand over his face and tries to ignore the voice in his head jumping up and down about Skye being asleep in his bed. Despite having a king size bed (and it being completely against college dorm room code) and her drowsy protestation otherwise, sleeping _with_ her would have been one hundred percent the wrong thing to do. Being a gentleman about it — as literally painful as it was turning out to be — was definitely the way to go.

Grant winces at the crick in his neck — sleeping on the couch was probably not his finest idea (not that he’d had much choice) — and swings his feet over the side to plant them on the floor. In about two minutes he’s going to get up and walk to the kitchen and start brewing coffee.

Then he’s going to see if Skye is alive.

There is a small commotion in the kitchen, which makes approximately zero sense.  It is way too early for anyone to be awake.

“You alive out there?” Grant tips his head back against the cushions and desperately wishes for coffee. He doesn’t deserve Trip as a roommate, to be honest. The man had dealt with more than his fair share of crises last night and now he was up making coffee. He’s done nothing to warrant this kind of bromanship. He feels slightly bad about this.

On the plus side, Skye’s hangover is going to be the stuff of _legends_.

He is met with a long silence and opens his eyes to see a steaming mug of coffee on the table.

This is starting to get weird.

“Trip, if you’re still mad about last night —”

“— Why would I be mad about last night?” Trip strolls out of his bedroom, nodding appreciatively at the coffee. “And where can I get some of that?”

Grant pauses just before he is about to sip. “You didn’t make this?”

“Not unless some coffee fairies made me a supply while I was sleeping.”

The distinct sound of a throat clearing catches their attention. Skye is propped in the doorway, regarding them both with amusement. “I’ve been called many things, but never a coffee fairy.”

Trip grins warmly and takes the outstretched much in her hand. “Nice to have you back, girl.”

Grant is staring at her with his jaw dropped. “How are you even _upright_ at this moment? You had enough vodka to _sink a ship_.”

Skye shrugs distractedly, picking at a fraying thread on her hoodie. “I don’t really get hangovers.”

“You don’t get —” He abruptly closes his mouth, glancing at Trip — who is, predictably, of no help whatsoever — for backup. “That’s not even possible for someone of your size.”

The fact that Skye doesn’t take the bait, not even bothering to rise to his barely disguised attack on her height, makes him look closer as she walks over and slumps onto the arm of the couch. She’s got dark smudges under her eyes and she’s sort of folded in on herself. If she could melt into the cushions, she probably would have by now.

“Skye…”

There’s also a distinct look of panic on her face — which makes absolutely no sense.

Saving her from having to answer is the sharp ringing of his phone. It’s the special ring, just for his father. The one they use in emergencies only.

“I’m just gonna,” she jerks a thumb over her shoulder and disappears down the hall.

Grant turns to ask Trip if he knows what the hell is going on, but his roommate shrugs and lifts his chin at the phone. “You know you have to take that.”

“Can you just —”

The phone rings insistently.

Trip turns smartly on his heel and heads for the kitchen. Almost immediately after, the sounds of breakfast being assembled can be heard.

(He _definitely_ doesn’t deserve him.)

Grant sighs, trying valiantly to swallow his frustration before answering. He’s barely three words in when his father starts in about indecent behavior and the ‘need to be discreet’ these days.

Meanwhile, Grant wonders what’s going on with Skye. He’s never seen her quite that upset before; at least, not about something they hadn’t talked about — and she’s always careful _never_ to get drunk. Plus, she _hates_ dancing. Says it’s just an excuse from 'some guy to put his hands on her’ and —

Grant abruptly curtails that line of thought.

Dangerous pathways, those. At least this early in the morning anyway.

…But there’s something else about how she said people leave or get hurt and —

Grant pulls the phone away from his ear. “Dad.” He glances down the hall, where the door to his bedroom is mostly closed. “I have to go.”

“Of course, right, lovely girlfriend —”

“— She’s _not_ my girlfriend —”

“— in the suite. I understand completely.”

“ _Dad_.”

“Hey,” his father blithely continues, as if the past conversation hadn’t happened. “You should call your Uncle John one of these days. He misses you.”

Grant adds it to his mental list and nods impatiently. “Sure.”

“Keep us posted. I wish we could do more.”

“It’s fine.” And it is. He gets it; it’s an election year and honestly he’s kind of surprised they aren’t giving him more grief about the whole thing?

“And maybe don’t go online for a while.” With that cryptic statement, Dad hangs up.

Grant stares across the room at the innocent looking laptop for a few seconds before finally deciding that he really needs to know what’s going on. Then he fires up the search page and commits the cardinal sin of googling his family.

The headlines are epic. 

 

> ’ _JUST LIKE THE KENNEDYS’ POLITICIANS AND THEIR MESSY RELATIONSHIPS: GRANT WARD AND MYSTERY GIRLFRIEND ENGAGE IN DRUNKEN FESTIVITIES — ROMANCE ON THE ROCKS? WHAT IS SHE HIDING?_
> 
> _MYSTERY GIRLFRIEND OF GRANT WARD CAUGHT PARTYING WITH HIS ROOMMATE INSTEAD! LOVE TRIANGLE FOR GRANT DOUGLAS?_
> 
> _DESTINED TO BE FOREVER ALONE: WILL THE SECOND WARD SON EVER FIND LOVE?_

Grant drags both hands over his face and prays for strength.

*

He finds Skye curled up on the bed, huddled against the window as she stares outside. Because of her association with him, she’s become fodder for the media. He has no idea how to break that to her.

“So we should probably —”

“— I’m sorry about the headlines.”

“You know about that?”

“Grant.” She turns to him with a look.

He’s getting that feeling like Skye knows a lot more than she’s telling. It’s time to level the playing field. “What’s going on?”

Skye drops her head to her knees. “Phil was in an accident.”

Of all the things she could have said, that was the _last_ thing he’d expected.

“… _What_?”

She nods slowly. “No one will tell me what’s going on or if he’s going to be okay. I can’t handle not _knowing_.”

He’s still struggling to process her earlier statement. “So your uncle was badly hurt and you didn’t think that warranted a _phone_ call?”

There’s complete silence in the room.

After a moment, Skye rears back. “I’m _sorry_?” He can almost _feel_ the outrage in her voice.

“You _should_ be.”

Her jaw drops open. “I’m _sorry_ I didn’t call you to tell you my uncle was in a _horrible accident_ and I’ve been _freaking_ out —”

“— and _dancing on bars_ , let’s not forget that —” His voice has gone up at least two octaves, sounding loud in his own ears. He’s distantly aware that he might be close to yelling but he can’t seem to stop.

Trip pushes open the door. “Uh, guys?”

“— so excuse me if I was a little busy and neglected to call you —”

“— I just don’t understand how you thought _I wouldn’t have wanted to know_ —”

“Guys.”

“— I wound up in the _INFIRMARY_ because I passed out from the shock, is that what you wanted to hear? Because I —”

Her eyes are looking suspiciously teary and he starts to panic. Maybe this wasn’t the right way to handle things? (But it had always worked in the past with Thomas and Rosie?) Grant tries to get back on track, tries to put into words the fact that — even when they’re not seeing eye to eye on things — they’re _talking_ to each other. He doesn’t want to think about the nagging fact that she suddenly might not feel the same way.  "— How could you _think_ that? Since _when_ do we not tell each other when crazy things happen —"

“— _**GUYS**_.”

“ _WHAT_?” Grant and Skye shout in unison.

Trip puts his hands up in defense. “I’m gonna take a guess that it you _haven’t_ noticed the news vans camped out front.”

Grant curses under his breath and Skye lets her head thud against the window dramatically.

Trip nods. “Listen. Why don’t you try to work _together_ ,” he nods at them pointedly, “Instead of fighting about it. This isn’t getting you _anywhere_.” He walks away muttering something about dealing with crazy roommates and friends who can’t seem to get their lives in order.

Though it costs him dearly, Grant takes a deep breath and sits down on the edge of the bed. He reaches for her hand, and she lets him tangle their fingers together. Everything makes a disjointed sort of sense now. “How ya holding up?”

“Honestly?” Her eyes are watery and she’s biting her lip against the emotion swimming on her face. She looks _wrecked_.

This time when she starts to cry, he’s already got his arm around her shoulders. “Okay, ninja. Let’s try and sort this one out.”

*

It takes a few phone calls for him to realize that he probably should have been paying more attention to whatever Dad was trying to tell him earlier. The added media splash is going to make it very difficult to do anything discreetly over the next 24 hours. He even knuckles down and calls Christian to see if he’s got any favors to cash in but the hospital where Phil Coulson is being treated has security like Fort Knox. (Grant would know. They spent a few weeks there last year after Thomas had been kicked out of school. … _Again_.)

Just when he thinks he’s hit the end of the line, a text message from John comes in.

[ _hey kiddo. heard you got yourself into quite the situation last night. i thought you were leaving the manwhoring to thomas these days?_ ]

Seized with inspiration, Grant picks up the phone and finally remembers the last bit of advice given to him by his father. He calls his Uncle John.

*

“So who is this mysterious uncle of yours?” Skye has been otherwise silent for the past thirty seven minutes (not that he’s counting or anything) of their drive so he has to fight hard to keep his grip steady on the wheel.

“Uh, John is…” Grant pauses a moment, attempting to categorize his favorite uncle. What did one say about John Garrett, exactly? He’d been around for as long as Grant remembered, was the only one who wouldn’t let them take serious family photos in the history of _ever_ , and always knew what to say to diffuse an argument. (He also had some kind of job in a shady branch of the government somewhere, but no one really talked about that.)

“He’s a character.”

Skye turns her head to look at him. “That’s all you have to say about him? He’s potentially getting me in to see my uncle, when everyone else said it _couldn’t be done_ and —”

“— You’re going to see Phil.” On this, Grant is firm. “If John says he can get you in, you’re in.”

“That’s a lot of faith to put in one person,” Skye glances out the window, drumming her fingers idly on the wide console of the armrest.

“That’s family,” Grant says quietly.

He very cautiously puts his hand down next to hers, splaying his fingers slowly. Just when he thinks Skye is going to completely rebuff and ignore his efforts, she slides her pinky out and links it with his.

The rest of the drive is silent.

*

It’s kind of a blur of stern faced men carrying machine gun looking weapons (not dissimilar from the ones at Fort Knox, Grant idly thinks) and badges and talk of gunshot wounds and _touch and go_ and signing waivers and — this might have been a hallucination — he’s pretty sure someone spun out a secret handshake just to mess with him? — but it’s all worth it when he sees Skye lay eyes on Phil.

Skye is looking at her Uncle like everything in her world has clicked back into alignment.

(He would give _anything_ for her to look at him that way.)

“You ass,” she accuses Phil, perching on the bed gingerly.

(…That actually sounds a lot more like the Skye he knows so well.)

That the injured man in question actually _smiles_ at the irritation in her voice says a lot about the nature of their relationship.

Phil struggles to open his eyes. The pain is evident on his face as it wars against the incredulity of seeing her before him. “… _How_?”

“Turns out I have some friends,” she glances back at Grant, and he nods reassuringly, “in high places.”

“Apparently,” Phil winces, thumbing the controls to the bed so that he is propped up in a halfway seated position. “I can’t even get a decent cup of jello in this place.”

“I kind of didn’t do so well when they told me you were hurt and I couldn’t see you.” She shrugs. 

“I’ll say,” Grant coughs pointedly, drawing the gaze of everyone in the room. He widens his eyes innocently. “I’m just being honest.”

When it looks like Phil is about to question Grant’s presence in the room, Skye reaches for his hand and recaptures his attention. “What the hell happened? You said you sold airplane parts.”

“Skye.” There is a wry twist to the older man’s smile. “I don’t sell airplane parts. I _never_ sold airplane parts.”

Her jaw drops. “What the he —”

“Mr. Coulson needs his _rest_ ,” the nurse reprimands sharply from the door, glaring hard at the lot of them.

“But I —” Skye has that look in her eyes, the one that says she’s prepared to duke it out and judging from the past few days events’, he doesn’t doubt that she could take on the weathered looking nurse and win (or at least, give her a run for her money) but that isn’t going to bode well for them if they want to come back before Phil is discharged in a few weeks.

“Hey,” he steps close, tucking a hand in the curve of her elbow. “We should let your uncle sleep.”

When Skye stares up at him, everything she’s feeling is reflected in her eyes. It’s almost too much for Grant to take in, honestly. Judging by the fire in her eyes, she’s covering it all with her usual brand of anger, and now she’s ready to take him on instead. He digs in his metaphorical heels and dips his head to ensure that they maintain eye contact. “We’ll come back tomorrow, if you want.”

The nurse sniffs at them disdainfully, but does not contradict him.

“Fine,” Skye says mulishly, folding her arms and forcing his hand to fall to the side.

His grin slips for half a second before he slings an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “Say goodbye.”

She turns to bid her uncle farewell but he’s already sleeping, under the strength of heavy painkillers. Grant pretends not to notice the way she lets her hair curtain the emotions racing across her face.

“C'mon.” He brushes an absent kiss to her forehead. “Let’s get out of here.”

Skye doesn’t say anything as she melts into his side, as if somehow trusting that he will get them out of there and home safe.

Just before they reach the elevator doors, she burrows more closely against his shoulder. “Thank you.” Her voice is soft, nearly lost to the beeps and whirs of hospital sounds and the pages coming over the PA system.

“ ’s what I’m here for,” Grant pushes the button for the elevator, keeping her tucked safely against his side.

And despite the fact that they’re in a high security hospital, that everything she’s ever known about her uncle has some how been turned on its head — that her world has somehow been thrown into a blender, yet again — it somehow feels like they’re the only people in the world. Like they’re on this island of solitude and nothing bad can touch them.

Skye has finally lost that haunted look in her eyes and he’s so, _so_ very glad to see that. “That’s one thing you’ll never have to doubt. I’ve got you.”

“Long Island, I don’t know why that is,” she lets him pull her into the elevator, somehow content for him to take the lead — at least, for now. “But I’m starting to believe it.”

“Guess I have my work cut out for me, then.” He almost worries that she’s going to call him out on the cheeseball factor of his statement, but she just continues to stare at him with wide, searching eyes. “What?”

She shakes her head, preferring to keep her thoughts to herself.

Somewhere during the descent between the fifth and sixth floors, Skye edges closer ever so slightly and tucks her hand into his.

And in that moment — just for a _moment_ — everything is okay.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ [tumblr](http://b-isforbombshell.tumblr.com/).  
> \+ thanks to my lovely catteo for the beta  
> \+ the airplane parts line is from alias  
> \+ this chapter was getting too big, so i had to split it  
> \+ HAPPY COLLEGE AU UPDATE DAY!


	13. thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **aka** : _the one where skye finally lets down her guard and all sorts of heart-to-hearts happen. (maybe not the kind you want, though…)_

Skye has been quiet since they’ve left the hospital. Grant assumes it’s probably weird for her to see the familiar sights here after she’s been away at school for months and doesn’t want to disturb her. He’d love to get her talking again — wouldn’t even mind if she took a few potshots at his ego so long as it meant she was animated, instead of this lifeless stupor she’s been in — but it seems somehow intrusive to draw her out of her thoughts.

It is probably a good ten minutes before the landmarks become less rural and more commercial and she looks at him with a semblance of recognition.

“Where are you headed?” She clears her throat and even that is muted somehow, the same way most of her actions have been since leaving campus this morning.  

“Makes the most sense to crash at your uncle’s tonight, unless you have any other ideas.”

“That’s _creepy_ ,” Skye mutters, eyeing the route lit up on the GPS. “Should I be worried that you know how to get there when I’ve never even mentioned his address?”

“John is…” Grant winces, trying to find a diplomatic way to phrase what he’s about to say. “Very thorough.”

It’s as though the events of the day pile on top of her and she scrubs a hand over her face. She seems to be fighting some kind of internal battle but for the life of him, he can’t figure out why. Just moments before he has to take the exit to continue following the GPS, she clearly comes to some kind of decision and leans forward to turn off the navigation. “Go straight.”

“This isn’t the way to Phil’s house…” Grant says, merging back into traffic.

“Turns out John doesn’t know everything,” is all Skye is reveals, remaining tight-lipped about where they are headed.

*

It’s a dizzying route of turns and winding roads until the power lines disappear from view and tall iron gates and professional landscaping speak for the sharp rise in demographics.

Skye directs him to the last street an indicates for him to turn right into a long driveway. The house is hidden from view behind a veritable forest and he is keenly aware of the tension rising from the girl beside him. At last, the trees break off and a very large house sits proudly on what has to be several thousand acres of lawn.

She is motionless beside him and she can’t seem to take her eyes off the house.

The faded brick exterior has a kind of stately elegance to it that reminds him of their home in Massachusetts, and he feels a sort of calm settle over him because of it. The matching brick mailbox at the start of the drive makes sense now, and he somehow isn’t surprised to see the abundance of windows lining the first and second floors — Skye has always gravitated to natural light and he’s beginning to see more pieces of the puzzle that is uniquely _her_ slotting into place.

“Where are we?” Grant hates to ask but he needs to break her out of this stupor somehow.

Skye turns away from studying the house with a measured slowness. “Home.”

He was afraid of that. Still, he wasn’t about to let her wallow without a fight. “Nice place. You secretly an heiress, ninja?”

“Hardly.” She unbuckles her seatbelt and pushes out of the car. He has to scramble to keep up with her as she marches over to a nearly invisible alarm console and begins punching in a sequence of numbers.  "It’s incredible what life insurance policies these days can buy.“

The flatness in her response generates a strange tug in his chest that is swallowed up the way they are, as the garage door closes behind and seals them off from the world outside.

*

Skye has been through a pretty hellish 36 hours so Grant doesn’t take it personally when she fishes through a drawer in the kitchen and thrusts a couple of take out menus at him. That she trusts him to order for her is a red flag in itself (not because he can’t do it, but because the one thing she always has a say in is what she is about to eat) but she’s like a ghost, slipping out of the room and up the stairs before he can call her back.

He has the quick impression of white walls and neutral color palettes from when she’d dragged him through the garage and into the house with an iron grip on his hand and the shuttered look on her face that indicated no questions would be tolerated. Grant tries to reconcile _this_ Skye with the Skye he’s always know — literal embodiment of a hurricane, tough as nails, with a heart of gold protected by her incredible sarcastic and verbal sparring abilities — when he hears the shower turn on overhead and decides that she probably has the right idea. Thankfully he hadn’t gotten all of his things out of the truck after picking her up at the bar last night ( _had it really only been last night?_ ) so there’s at least half a duffle bag worth of clean clothes he can sort through.

The menus are essentially all the same and they deliver, so he picks one at random. Before he can do much besides confirm the address they have listed on file, the server asks, "You want your regular order, then?” and he agrees, thankful at last _something_ should fall into place for them.

Grant dutifully recites his credit card over the phone and is promised food in the next thirty minutes.

Dinner having thus been acquired, he sets off down a hallway and hopes there’s a bathroom at the other end. There is. Which is, y'know, good. Because the absolute last thing he needs to do right now would be to head upstairs and try to sort out which room was hers and he is so relieved that they won’t be needing to share a bathroom.  

(He’s a horrible person and very probably going to hell and until he does, it’ll be a cold shower for him. Damn.)

*

She feels only slightly guilty about hauling Grant into the house with the grace of a seasoned wrestler. On the plus side, he’s pretty solid and there’s no question in her mind that if he _hadn’t_ allowed her to drag him, she would still be in the garage with a 6'2 inches of stubborn male. So that’s a bit of a comfort.

After all, it’s not his fault that being here makes it feel like she’s losing her mind.

That coming to the top of the stairs and peering at her parents’ closed bedroom door flings back the kind of memories she had vowed to keep on lockdown forever.

That she still can still somehow smell her mother’s Chanel _Allure_ and hear the way her father would shout excitedly about the Yankees game from his office down the hall. That if she just closes her eyes she can feel the phantom touch of her mother’s hand ghost over her shoulder, prompting her _come on, skye, we haven’t got all day — throw on that red dress and let’s surprise your father by taking him out for dinner — he’s be working so hard lately_

Her gasp echoes sharply in the empty hallway and she grits her teeth just hard enough to feel the biting tension sing into her jaw. It’s enough to pull her back to the present, which is helpful because obviously  being in this house is going to be a constant battle to keep her equilibrium.

She can do this. She _has_ to do this.

Grant is downstairs and he’s very much anchored in the here and now. She just needs to find him, explain why she’s feeling weird, and then it will start to feel more normal. It will.

She digs through her closet and ignores the many options lining the racks (she had the biggest walk-in closet in the house) and pulls on jeans and a tank top. Any minute now, her mother was going to burst into the room _darling do you think these shoes match or should I go for the nude pumps with this dress_ or her father was going to come down the hall and sing loudly with the kind of exuberance that signaled he was having a great day.

The sound of running water ceases downstairs and she blinks in disorientation. Shadows have lengthened into skinny stripes on the wall and swath her bedroom in the kind of sunset glamour she’d always loved best about this room.

And yet somehow when she looks in the mirror, it’s like no time at all has passed.

“Don’t be stupid.” She ignores the sinking feeling of her stomach landing at her feet and focuses on the steadily building tension at the base of her neck. This is just a typical instance of going too long without eating. She just needs to chow down and everything will be fine.

Skye takes the steps in a heavy sprint and makes it to door just in time for the delivery. By the time Grant emerges from the other end of the hall (the same one her parents had jokingly referred to as the ‘guest wing’), she’s dished out food and is staring out into space blankly.

“…Skye?”

She comes back to attention, startled. “Sorry. What?”

Grant looks like he’s been standing at the counter patiently for a few minutes, trying to get her attention.

( _When had he gotten there?_ )

“I asked if there was anything specific you wanted,” he gestured at the sushi spread before them, nabbing a quick mouthful of seaweed salad.

( _Why can’t she get it together? Why is this so damn difficult?_ )

She doesn’t even pretend that her eyes aren’t wet from unshed tears when she lifts them to him. “I’m not that hungry.”

Grant exhales slowly and tugs her out of her chair. He walks until they are in the living room and can sit down on a monster couch. “Do you want to… talk about the elephant in the room?”

Skye gives him a watery smile. “You got our usual.”

“What?”

“The sushi order. It’s what my mom and dad and I used to get all the time.”

He feels like an ass. “Skye, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t even thinking —”

“It’s okay.” She shrugs. “It’s just another reminder of being here.”

This is the segue he has been waiting for. “Why _are_ we here, anyway? I would have been fine going to your uncle’s house.”

“Do you know I haven’t been home since the day I moved out?”

He really hates when she answers one of his questions by countering with another question. But judging by the way she’s hanging onto her composure by sheer force of will, he’s resolved not to call her out on it.

“Now seemed like the appropriate time to come back?”

…Okay, so he couldn’t quite keep _all_ of the skepticism out of his tone.

“I need more alcohol for this,” Skye mumbles, getting up from the couch only to return with a bottle of red wine, champagne and a bottle of more than respectable vodka. She has two juice glasses shoved into the curve of her elbow, which she sets out on the table in front on them.

“Pick your poison.”

While the vodka would be faster — and thus, her personal choice — Grant has begun to show a fair amount of logic as of late, and he continues on this streak by tapping the bottle of wine.

She pours a generous amount in each glass and slugs back half. Then she blinks a few times to get her bearings and desperately tries to ignore the tears wanting to escape.

“Skye? We don’t have to talk about this…”

It seems like a natural thing to let her head fall against his shoulder. Even more natural to keep sipping at her wine like it’s a lifeline as she starts to tell him about her parents and what it was like to grow up in the house where they now sit.

When the tears start rolling down her face and she’s starting to feel like the living embodiment of a Coldplay song, Grant wraps an arm around her shoulder and tugs her close.

He doesn’t let go.

*

Somewhere around her second and third glass of wine, Skye is leaning against him bonelessly and her voice has grown hoarse from speaking. He thinks she’s just about tired herself out when she scrambles into an upright position and grips his shoulder urgently.

“You know why I’m telling you this, don’t you?”

He’s a little more concerned with the way her eyes seem to be glassy from the wine, actually. “Because I'm… here?”

“No,” she shakes her head impatiently, and he has to grab her to prevent her from falling off the couch with her lack of coordination. “In my life, I’ve had three people I could rely on. Two of them aren’t here anymore and I wasn’t sure I’d get to see the third after what happened. You got me in to see Phil.”

“Technically it was John,” Grant starts to protest, feeling a little uncomfortable at the unwavering sincerity burning in her eyes.

“Grant.” Skye puts a hand on his cheek, forcing him to look at her. “You gave me back my uncle. I’ll be the first to admit that our relationship needs some work — but _you_ created the opportunity in the first place. No one has ever done anything like that for me before.”

He could shrug it off and pretend like her belief in him means nothing — but that would be a total lie, and he has always tried to be as honest as possible with her. “Told you before: I’ve _got_ you.”

“Thanks.” She plants a sloppy kiss on his cheek that lands dangerously close to the corner of his mouth.

There are times when Grant finds himself absolutely speechless in life. These aren’t often and he doesn’t ever see them coming.

This is one of those times.  

This is completely uncharted territory and he can’t even call her on it because she’s so exhausted and half drunk and somehow conveniently never remembers it the next morning.

“And now I,” she yawns monstrously, rubbing at her eyes. “Am going to fall into an alcohol coma.”

Grant becomes mildly alarmed. “That sounds like a bad idea.”

“ ’S what normally happens. Wake me up when it’s over.”

“You’re going to regret this in the morning.” He shifts and easily lifts her into his arms.

“No hangovers,” Skye reminds him, though the effect is somewhat diminished by the way she’s humming a tune incoherently.

“Which is also a total load of crap,” Grant retorts, but there’s no heat behind it as he begins climbing the stairs. He locates a somewhat open door and steps inside to see various quotes and pictures scattered on the walls that identify it as Skye’s room.

He sits her on the bed, keeping one arm around her back as he tugs the covers down far enough for her to scoot under. “This is starting to become a habit with us, ninja.”

“You’re a good man, Long Island. Don’t let anyone tell you,” Skye yawns and pats a clumsy hand to his cheek. “…Otherwise.”  

She rolls over and then he’s tucking the sheets around her and wondering how this became his life.

*

It makes sense to try and box up the rest of their aborted dinner and tidy up the kitchen. He’s about to turn on a Spotify playlist for tunes when he sees the missed call and text from Trip.

[ _you guys okay? anybody gonna let me know what’s happening?_ ]

Trip answers on the first ring. “What the _hell_ , man?”

“I know. It’s been a crazy day.”

“Says the man who hasn’t been fighting the media all day long.”

Grant frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“Did you even _check_ your email today?”

Despite the good intentions behind his friend’s impatience, he can’t help but feel slightly irritated. “We were kind of busy, what with Phil being in the hospital and all.”

“Listen, Grant. You guys… Look, I don’t really know what’s going on but I will tell you that the media have been on campus since the bar incident and it’s getting worse. The Dean is supposed to make an official statement about it but he can’t do that until you sign a disclaimer. _Check your email._ ”

Grant pulls the phone away from his ear to scroll through his incoming mail and sure enough, there’s an email and an attached PDF looking not unlike any standard NDA. “Right.”

“Seriously, though. What _is_ going on with you?”

“It's… complicated.”

“How complicated can it be? You either like her or you don’t. Have I taught you nothing?”

If he laughed right now, it would come out bitterly and that’s the last thing Trip deserves. “You’ve taught me _everything_. But that’s just it: I can’t lose her. I won’t screw this up, she’s too important. She needs a friend who actually _sticks around_ more than anything right now.”

There is such a long silence on the phone that he actually frowns and checks to see if the call has been dropped.

“I’m here,” Trip finally replies, sounding exhausted. “I’m just…”

Grant somehow knows exactly how his friend is feeling. “Tell me you have another option tucked up your sleeve and I’ll run with it, but honestly…”

“No. No, you’re right. But Grant?”

“Yeah?”

“You need to be careful.”

The suggestion has him stiffening in outrage and for the first time, Grant is actually glad that Skye is passed out right now. At least this way, she doesn’t have to witness this. “If you’re implying that I would do anything to _hurt_ her —”

“Hold on, hold on. I know you’d never _intentionally_ hurt her —”

“What the hell does that _even mean_?”

“It’s just that this is a totally different level you’re on now.”

He is quiet while he absorbs the loaded statement and ultimately, chooses to ignore it.“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’d do this for any of my friends.”

“Grant.”

“Or are you forgetting that time when your Nan was in the hospital and you needed to get home?”

“ _Grant_.”

“Or the time Rosie helped us track down your sisters when they lost their class trip in the middle of New York City?”

“ _GRANT_.” Trip is beyond frustrated and now he’s reached the limits of his patience.  

Grant clears his throat. “Sorry. It’s been a weird day.”

“Look. Get some sleep, clear your head. Tomorrow you guys are going to have to figure out some kind of plan because — and I really don’t want to be telling you this right now — but Skye’s bar episode has kind of gone viral.”

And here he’d (mistakenly) thought the day couldn’t possibly get any worse. “… _What_?”

“You need to get your head in the game, man.” Trip softens his tone and (somewhat unnecessarily, in Grant’s opinion) adds, “Because if you don’t, they’re gonna tear you both apart. You know how this works.”

Skye would never survive a media onslaught. She’d barely made it through the first one, when the local papers had circulated their tales about her parents’ crash.

Grant feels about a hundred years old with the weight of the world settling over his shoulders. He’s just about to let it take him under when he remembers the way Skye had looked at him — like he was her champion and could slay the dragons in her world. (Actually she’d more likely tell him to step out of the way while _she_ fought the dragon but at least he’d be around for backup.)

He wonders if she ever gets tired of carrying that torch alone.

Then he thinks of his past, with all the girls before Skye and the carefree way he’d gone through them like it was just a game and wonders if he’s even _worthy_ of helping her carry it.

“Hey.” Trip’s voice startles him back into the conversation. “I know you can do this. Just sleep on it, okay?”

“Yeah,” Grant says, pinching the bridge of his nose in a poor attempt to alleviate the blinding pain in his head. “Thanks for everything. I mean it.”

“I’ve got your backs.” Trip says affably, no trace of their argument before. “Tell our favorite ninja I said hi.”

Grant promises to do so and hangs up the phone, sitting in the heavy silence of the living room. The vodka is still on the table before him but somehow he doesn’t think getting drunk is the answer to his problems. Not when he already feels like he’s on the worst bender of his life.

He flips off the lights and trudges down to bed.

Even though he’s tired, he can’t keep his mind from racing. Maybe he should have had some vodka after all.

It takes a long time before he finally falls asleep — and when he finally does, it isn’t before one last thought:

Tomorrow was going to be a _long_ day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ if you're wondering why it's so long between updates, [here is the explanation](http://b-isforbombshell.tumblr.com/post/123246510710/are-you-planning-to-write-more-of-your-college-au).
> 
> \+ [tumblr](http://b-isforbombshell.tumblr.com).


	14. fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka: _the one where all hell breaks loose and skye manages to get her groove back (despite all evidence to the contrary)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CAT SAYS NO ONE ACTUALLY SAYS 'FML' ALOUD BUT I DO. 
> 
> SO THERE.

When she wakes up, there are birds chirping.

Which is mildly disturbing, because birds shouldn’t chirp at college — not when there are finals and labs and annoying classmates and obscure professors and —

She blinks.

She’s not at college.

She’s back home. Like _home_ home. _New Jersey_ home.

Her _parents_ ’ home.

The events of last night’s half-drunken confessions and slightly sloppy behavior come rushing back to her. _Had she thanked Grant for not leaving her and then almost kissed him on the mouth? HAD SHE THANKED GRANT ON THE MOUTH???  
_

“FML.” Skye flings both arms over her head and covers her eyes.

She needs coffee. She needs a _lot_ of coffee.

*

The nice thing about having some pretty fancy cars in the garage is the fact that said cars hold their value and quality for quite some time. Other than letting her mother’s BMW sedan idle for a couple of minutes, Skye finds it’s all too easy to slip behind the wheel and run out for coffee and some basic groceries.

She takes solace in the fact that no one really knows who she is, that there’s no one expecting her to be _here_ and that allows her the anonymity she’d craved for so long after her parents’ death.

The car is a bit _more_ than she’s used to handling — her beloved Mini Cooper is probably still parked in the driveway at Phil’s — but other than refueling it and a brief drive around town, it holds up remarkably well, performing with the easy glide and smooth ride that her mom had long preferred.

And if she sits in the driveway with coffee in the cupholders and feeling bizarrely grateful that no one was around to watch her occasionally sniffling, well.

There’s just some dust and pollen, irritating her eyes.

*

It only seems polite to make breakfast after what happened last night.

Skye half-laughs to herself while mixing the ingredients together for pancakes. _That’s probably the first time Grant hasn’t slept with a girl who brought him home._

Not that it would be the most terrible idea.

…And clearly, her sanity has taken a hiatus. Nothing said thinking clearly like being in the house of your childhood (sans dead parents, of course) thinking about jumping one of your friends. …Possibly even your _only_ friend, these days.

Her phone chirped with a new message.

[ _hey girl. you alive? my boy taking care of you like he should?_ ]

Skye grinned and flipped the slightly misshapen pancakes before responding. [ _alive and well, thanks :) your boy is still ASLEEP but i guess when you’re that pretty you need a good eight hours every night, so…_ ]

Trip responds: [ _annnnnd it’s like nothing has changed_. ]

She shakes her head and thinks about the past two days and how the only solid moments she’d had were the ones that involved Grant. This… _friendship_ between them was starting to grow the kind of roots that indicate a scary kind of permanence — and that comes with its own kind of problems. “If only that were the case.”

“Talking to yourself now?”

Skye jumps about two feet in the air and in the process, loses control of the spatula, sending it flying wildly where it lands with a clatter at Grant’s feet.

He raises an eyebrow before tiredly shuffling over to the coffeemaker. “I think we should have a conversation about seriously reducing your caffeine intake.”

She remains still for a few moments, trying to get her heartbeat to settle. It doesn’t help that he’s all scruffy and sleep-worn, looking like he just rolled out of bed as his shirt is still half-rucked up around his torso.

_This is fine. I’m fine. I’ve seen Grant in pajamas before._

_…haven’t I?_

 

“— angover?”

Skye tunes back into the conversation to catch the tail end of his question. Though she’s expecting to be hit with _weird_ feels when she looks at him, it still packs a bizarre kind of punch that leaves her feeling incredibly disoriented.

“Ninja.” Grant waves a hand in front of her eyes, looking amused as she skitters backward and nearly falls into the cabinets. “You okay in there?”

She takes a deep breath and carefully articulates her response. “I am perfectly fine.”

“I don’t believe you.” He leans forward, crowding her from where she is basically pinned against the refrigerator.

They stand there for an uncomfortably charged moment until he wrinkles his nose slightly and glances backward. “Skye.”

She swallows audibly. “Yes?”

“…The pancakes are burning.”

The loud shrieking of the smoke detector goes off a second later, effectively shattering the moment and giving her the wherewithal to shove past him and see for herself that the pancakes, are in fact, burning.

“This is why I can’t have nice things,” Skye mutters, ignoring his laughter as he walks back down the hall, loudly slurping his coffee.

Her hands are shaking. _What the hell?_

Trip sends another message. [ _glad to hear you aren’t killing each other. make sure grant signs that NDA sooner rather than later._ ]

“NDA? _What_ NDA?” She frowns, trying to put the pieces together — and the image she’s starting to get is _not_ a good one. “ _Grant Douglas Ward_.”

Grant strolls back into the kitchen, freshly clad in jeans and tugging down a fitted tee shirt. “Seriously. _How_ are you _not_ hungover right now? I’ve seen footballers drink less than you and barely function the next day.”

“NDA?” Skye retorts archly, holding up her phone with their friend’s message.

He skims the message — “Aww. You think I’m pretty” — and she scowls at him. “ _Focus_.”

Grant folds his arms and meets her eyes squarely. “Look. There are a few things —”

“— a _few_? —”

“— we need to talk about but honestly if we don’t get breakfast in the next fifteen minutes, I’m going to throwdown.”

Skye opens her mouth as if to protest but is interrupted when her stomach growls audibly.

Grant looks absurdly pleased with himself. “And apparently so are you. So let’s just… hit pause on everything, get some food and go visit your uncle. We can deal with the rest later.”

This seems far too rational a thought process for the kind of evening they’d had last night.

_…and that statement makes everything seem a billion times worse._

(She really needs to get a grip.)

Skye frowns deeply. “Who _are_ you and what have you done with the Grant I know that loves to torment me?”

“I’m deeply hurt by that accusation.” He slips on his shoes, lacing them quickly. “But I’m too hungry to discuss it right now so you’ll need to support your argument with more facts on the way to breakfast.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose and gestures at the door. “Lead on, Long Island.”

He grins charmingly. “I knew you’d see it my way.”

Then he takes off running for the car at the murderous look in her eyes.

*

Breakfast is only a short wait before they are seated at a decent sized table. There are interesting quotes on the wall and a menu that promises death by carbs and calories — if not complete satisfaction — and Grant decides that he likes this glimpse into Skye’s life before she hurricaned into his.

She’s currently building a pyramid out of the single-serve jam containers stacked neatly in the corner and doing almost everything possible to avoid meeting his eyes, which is weird, because she’s never been afraid of him before and this is hardly the kind of thing that would warrant that type of behavior.

“Skye.”

At his voice, she drops the jam in her hand as gaze jumps to him guiltily.

He narrows his eyes at her. “What’s going on with you? You’ve been acting extra strange.”

“Says the guy who needs to sign a freaking _non disclosure agreement_ ,” She mutters, returning her attention to the tiny masterpiece she’s constructing.

Their server comes and takes their order.

Grant is mildly reassured when Skye smiles up at the young girl, deciding on the huevos rancheros (“can you hold the chorizo and add extra cheese? oh and the spiciest salsa you’ve got, okay?”) and a massive iced coffee. He orders the Hungry Man Breakfast, ignores her sarcastically muttered remarks (“more like garbage truck-sized amount of food”) and hands over their menus with a grin.

“You just made _her_ day,” Skye says, watching the waitress strut away with an extra spring in her step.

“At least I could make _someone’s_ day,” he responds, pouring cream into his coffee mug.

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“You’ve been acting weird all morning. I don’t like it. What’s going on?”

*

Skye hates that he knows her this well.

She hates that he somehow can read her so easily that he knows when she’s lying to him and that he isn’t afraid to call her out on it.

That out of all the people in the world to befriend, Grant Ward has to be the only one who won’t put up with her crap.

“I’m just feeling a little…” When she looks up, he’s watching her intently, and nods for her continue with a gentle smile. She flushes slightly under the attention and tells herself to _get it together_.

Then she remembers this is the same _punk_ who forced her to take care of his fish without warning and pushed his way into her life mostly against her permission and had a frighteningly large stubborn streak rivaling her own and thinks she probably just needs to rip the bandaid off so that he will let her eat breakfast in peace.

“I’m just feeling a bit… _raw_ about last night, I guess.”

“If this is because you could barely keep your hands off me, then —”

“— _barely keep my hands off you_? Would you care to _rephrase_ that elephantine misapprehension you seem to be operating under?”

Grant winks at her roguishly. “I know my manly good looks and charm were just too much for you to handle but —”

“— I am about _three seconds_ from tossing this iced coffee in your _manly_ face and seeing how much you can handle —”

“— honestly, Skye. It could have happened to anyone. You had a weak moment. I get it.”

She visibly attempts to get her temper under control. “Let me get this straight: You think I’m feeling weird because I couldn’t _handle_ myself around you?”

He glances out the window as if the whole matter is of no particular importance and shrugs. “It’s not like there’s any other reason for you to be embarrassed right now, so…”

Her jaw drops open. “You should _be_ so lucky to have me jump your bones.”

Grant spews coffee everywhere.

But Skye is on a roll. She hurls her napkin at him. “I’m embarrassed because I cried my _eyes_ out all over your _stupid_ face last night and spilled my _guts_ about my dead parents and then you had to carry me to bed and _tuck me in_ like I was a _child_.”

When Grant does nothing more than smirk at her, she raises her fists at him and shrieks. “ _What_ the actual hell is your _damage_?!”

“I just think it’s kind of funny that you’re —” their server returns with huge platters of food and he thanks her as his gaze warms in anticipation — “all torn up over a basic H-to-H.”

The sound of her personal terminology thrown back penetrates the fog of mixed up emotions and she shuts her mouth, glaring at him.

Then she realizes that by drawing her into this ridiculous argument, she’s all but forgotten about Phil being in the hospital, the insanity that is staying at her house, the overwhelming grief she feels at the loss of her parents and the stress of how they’d left things at campus.  

In a truly disturbing turn of events, he’s proven to be surprisingly good for her.

“I hate you,” Skye primly states, tucking into her food with gusto.

“No you don’t,” Grant chuckles, transferring a neat miniature stack of pancakes to the edge of her plate. He pays no mind to her outraged look as he swipes a healthy forkful of huevos from her dish. “Mmmm.”

“Lord give me strength.” Skye tugs her plate out of reach and keeps it guarded protectively against his fork. “You’ve got some serious explaining to do, Long Island.”

“Hey. Have I ever lied to you before?”

Though the statement is spoken with a kind of teasing lightness, there is no denying the gravity behind it.

Skye ceases her fidgeting and considers him intently. “No.”

This time it is his turn to shift uncomfortably, and he does, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Finish that up and we’ll go see Phil.”

She glares at him, but doesn’t argue.

(Grant considers it a personal victory.)

*

The nurses don’t seem surprised to see them this time, so they are directly escorted to Phil’s room without delay.

“Twice in one week.” Phil smiles at his niece as he sits up in bed, and they’re all too polite to mention how he seems to go slightly grayer with pain. “Who are you and what have you done with my niece?”

Skye laughs but it is a watery shadow of her usual humor. “It’s amazing what people will do to get a visit from their families these days.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” calls a new voice from the doorway.

She looks on in confusion as her uncle regards the newcomer with recognition and Grant abandons her side to clap him on the shoulder familiarly.

“Skye, I’d like you to meet my Uncle John.” Grant accepts the hair-ruffle the other man gives him good-naturedly, ducking aside at the last moment.

John Garrett stands patiently as she uncertainly makes her way over to him, reaching up on her toes and dropping a light kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for whatever you did to get us in here,” her voice is stripped of its typical bite and sass, so the genuine gratitude shines through with a maturity far beyond her years.

“Wasn’t that big a deal,” John says, tipping his head in acknowledgement. “It’s the least I could do for my favorite nephew.” Then he winces apologetically at Grant. “Can’t say I was able to persuade your mother off the ledge, though.”

“Oh, god.” Grant covers his eyes. “What does she want?”

“Dinner next week. Skye goes too.”

She starts in alarm. “What are you talking about?”

John smiles in an attempt to soften the blow. “My sister in law is a… _determined_ woman —”

“— you can say _that_ again,” Grant mutters.

“— and she’s gotten it into her head that the family needs to meet the girl we pulled some strings for.”

“You _just_ said it wasn’t _that big a deal_ ,” Skye hisses at him.

If it were any other situation, Grant would be almost proud of the way she isn’t taking any of his uncle’s crap and treats him about as familiarly as she would himself or Trip.

Phil is watching all of this with extreme interest and shares some kind of measured glance with John before saving the other man from speaking. He clears his throat to get her attention. “Skye. It’s the polite thing to do.”

Skye takes in the faintly pleading look on John’s face and the frustration seeping from Grant’s entire body and makes a decision. “ _Fine_.”

A strangely pleased expression appears on John’s face before it melts away into placid indifference. “Much appreciated, Skye.”

She keeps her eyes locked on Grant and replies, “Sure. I mean, Grant has met the sum total of my family at this point. Might as well return the favor.”

“That’s the spirit!” John claps his hands together in finality and informs them all that he’s going to check on getting some extra jello delivered and steps out to coerce an orderly into his cause.

Skye has approximately ten thousand things she wants to say to Grant in the moment but doesn’t want to air her frustrations in front of Phil, so she favors her uncle with a quick smile and squeezes his hand tightly. “You need anything?”

“Can you track down my crosswords? Swear they’re around here someplace.” Phil tries to fight against the pull of the medication dragging him under. As she moves around the room trying to locate the puzzles, he glances over her head to where Grant has been watching him carefully.

“I’m going to see if they have any at the nurses station,” Skye announces, “Be right back.”

At her departure, Grant comes nearer to Phil’s bedside and inclines his head to the other man in a manner of respect. “Sir.”

“You’ll,” he coughs, then gratefully accepts the water Grant hands over. “Take care of her?”

Grant’s eyes widen. He hadn’t been expecting something quite so serious to come from Phil and he scrambles to find his voice. “I will. I promise.”

“Thought so.” Satisfied with the answer, Phil closes his eyes. “She’s a hurricane like her mother. Keep that fire going ‘til I get out.”

Grant is left gaping while Phil drifts off to sleep.

“— Uncle Phil, I’ve got the —” Skye looks up to find a mildly shell-shocked Grant standing at her uncle’s bed, while the older man snores quietly. “…Puzzles.”

She visibly deflates at not having been able to say goodbye, though she tries to cover it with a quickly summoned smile, tucking the crosswords on his nightstand table.

Task having been completed, she looks around at the room and tries to get her bearings. She’s grateful that he doesn’t remark upon the tears that swim into her eyes when they linger on her uncle and how small he looks in the hospital bed.

Grant silently opens his arms and she hesitates for about half a second before diving into them. He holds her tighter than usual and they don’t say anything while the beeping of Phil’s heart monitor keeps time in the background.

*

The drive back to the house isn’t silent like she had hoped — because Grant decides that it’s the perfect time to address the NDA elephant in the room.

“So. About that non disclosure I’ve been needing to sign…”

Skye rolls her head just far enough to keep him in sight. “Do I even _want_ to know?”

“Probably,” he flicks the turn signal and waves an oncoming driver ahead. “Considering it mostly involves you.”

She lets out a dramatic and pained sigh. “This is about what happened in the bar, isn’t it?”

“More like a _specific_ happening in the bar.”

Skye narrows her eyes into slits. “How about _you_ start being more specific and less vague so this conversation doesn’t take five million years?”

“Five million years seems like an awfully long time and also —”

“— _Grant_.”

“There’s a video of you dancing on the bar.”

Silence fills the car.

He glances over to catch Skye wordlessly bringing a hand up to scrub her face in frustration. “Of _course_ there is.”

“I can sign the NDA so we can address the media and —”

“No.”

“Skye.”

“It’s my mess,” she collects her composure, stiffening her spine and staring resolutely ahead. “I’m not going to lock you into cleaning up my mess.”

Grant puts the car in park and shuts off the engine. He takes a deep breath and calmly states, “We have lawyers and people who are trained to handle this sort of thing. It’s really not a big deal.”

“It’s bad enough your uncle had to get involved so that I could see mine. I’m not dragging your family through the mud for this.” A grim look crosses her face and she decisively adds, “ _Especially_ not if we’re going for family dinner next Sunday.”  

The look of confusion is borderline adorable, providing a moment of much needed levity as she hops from the car and into the house.

“Wait. Skye. _Skye_?”

Skye keys off the alarm and begins digging out the necessary ingredients to make popcorn. “Yes?” She sets the popper on the stovetop and fires up the burner underneath.

Grant struggles with phrasing his next sentence in a diplomatic manner and she tries not to smile at the visible effort on his face. After several false starts, he finally settles on: “You’re coming to dinner next week?”

Skye tips in the entire measurement of popcorn while looking at him. “Like Phil said: It’s the polite thing to do.”

He leans a hip against the counter and scrutinizes her. “You’re planning something.”

A brilliant smile blooms on her face. “Long Island. I’m _always_ planning something.”

“That doesn’t exactly fill me with reassurance,” he grumbles, digging out bowls at her vague gesture.

“C'mon. Let’s queue up that YouTube video and see what we’re dealing with here.”

“You really want to do this?”

“Might as well see what I got up to in that bar, since I barely remember a thing.”

Grant is quiet while she portions out the popcorn, only nodding a few times when she pours on melted butter and sprinkles the salt. He bites his tongue as she settles them into the couch with napkins and two beers, kicking her legs up on the ottoman.

“Before we begin,” he drawls, slinging an arm around the back of the couch and allowing it to fall around her shoulders securely. “I’d just like to say for the record, that if you wanted to dance with me… all you had to do was ask.”

Skye gives her attention to the hand cupped over her shoulder, turning to him while the TV flickers to life in the background and smirks. “When I want to dance with you, believe me. You’ll _know_.”

“I’ll remember you said that,” Grant tips his beer at the screen as the video begins to play.

Loud noises and yelling fill the room, courtesy of surround speakers, while the dim lighting and pulsing beat of the music can be felt even now, through a video. Slowly the lyrics come into hearing as the camera focuses on a brunette dancing on top of the bar, seeming to have the time of her life.

 

_oh don’t you dare look back  
just keep your eyes on me…_

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ [tumblr](http://b-isforbombshell.tumblr.com).  
> \+ the real [TRUE HOLLYWOOD COLLEGE AU](http://b-isforbombshell.tumblr.com/post/123246510710/are-you-planning-to-write-more-of-your-college-au) story.


	15. fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS. MY LIFE IS A COMPLETE AND UTTER DISASTER RIGHT NOW. THINGS ARE LITERALLY FALLING DOWN AROUND ME. I GOT INTO A CAR ACCIDENT AND I JUST LOST MY JOB. 
> 
> ...but apparently, we have college au. 
> 
> WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON????

## | [college au headcanons](http://b-isforbombshell.tumblr.com/tagged/the-college-au-headcanons) |

*

“Well.” 

There is complete silence as she attempts to process the colossal cluster that her life has just become. 

Grant remains quiet at her side, arm still anchored over her shoulders in warm reassurance. 

“I have… _made_ some choices.” Skye reaches for her beer and drains it without stopping for air. She lets out a burp that isn’t quite muffled from behind her hand. 

He rolls his eyes at her dramatics. “Look. It’s not… the _worst_ thing I’ve ever seen.” 

She lifts an eyebrow, reaching for her phone. Within seconds, she’s pulled up the most relevant search results on Google and the headlines are _damning_. 

> _MYSTERY GIRLFRIEND OF GRANT WARD SCORNED; RESORTS TO DROWNING HER SORROWS IN BOOZE AND DANCING!_
> 
> _COLLEGE ROOMATES GONE WILD! THE TELL ALL STORY OF GRANT WARD’S SECRET LADY AND HER DEEP ROOTED UNHAPPINESS!_
> 
> _“I KNEW SHE WASN’T GOOD ENOUGH FOR HIM!’ FELLOW CLASSMATES REVEAL JUICY DETAILS ABOUT SASSY BRUNETTE BARTOP DANCER!_

 

“Not the worst thing you’ve ever seen.”

He clears his throat delicately. “Thomas has been involved in some fairly sticky situations?”

Skye lets her hair fall forward, curtaining off her features from view. Every so often her body will shake with emotion as she attempts to get a grip.

Grant finds himself more alarmed by the second. “Skye. We can fix this.” 

With a heavier shake than before, she tips sideways against his body and he can see that she’s _laughing_. She’s laughing _hysterically_. The kind of laughter that is beyond actual noise. 

He has no idea how to proceed.

It’s entirely possible she has completely lost her mind. 

“Oh my god,” She can barely clear the words around her giggles. “All my life I’ve done everything possible to keep out of the papers and I make _one_ bad decision and it backfires _spectacularly_ in my face. ‘ _Sassy brunette bartop dancer,_ ’ oh my god _._ RIP in _pieces_.” There are tears (he’s not sure if they’re from laughter or sorrow, to be honest) leaking from the corner of her eyes.

“I mean… it _was_ an epically bad decision,” he muses, almost to himself. At her dirty look, Grant hastily amends, “But completely understandable.” 

“ _Wow_.” She’s gone lax against him, head leaning on his shoulder. “How on _earth_ do your parents _still_ want to meet me? Full on trainwreck hurricane here.” 

“Hey.” Grant shifts so that he can meet her eyes. “You made a mistake but that doesn’t make you a _bad_ person. We’ll get through this. I promise.” 

“Okay.” Skye blows out a heavy sigh, nodding slowly to herself. “Right.”

“Now. As far as the NDA goes, I should probably sign it and get it back as soon as –”

“No.” Her voice only wavers slightly, but the determination behind it is clear. “It’s an election year,” at his slack-jawed look, she rolls her eyes, “C’mon you idiot, pay attention.”

His frustration is slowly building. “We have the resources to make this disappear.” 

“I know.” Seeing the storm brewing in his eyes, she relents enough to squeeze his arm reassuringly. “But _you_ weren’t the one who made the decision to get sloppy and dance on a bar.” 

“Okay yes, but if you weren’t friends with _me_ , the media wouldn’t be all over you for this!”

Skye actually pulls away from him with the beginnings of a smirk curling on her face. He stares at her warily. “What does that look mean?”

“I think it’s cute that you want to take the blame for something that is totally not your fault so that we’re stuck in this together.” 

“Well, I –” He fumbles awkwardly, trying to articulate the right words. 

“Unfortunately…” Skye abruptly makes a lunge for his phone and jumps off the couch. “I can’t let you do that.” 

By the time he’s figured out what she wants to do, Skye has already dashed into the powder room around the corner and locked the door. “Skye! _Don’t_!” 

“You’ll thank me for this someday!” She yells. 

“I’m going to _throttle you_ ,” he vows loudly, pounding on the door. “Let me in!”

She emerges a few minutes later, albeit a great deal paler than before but with a fierce smile on her face. “Don’t worry so much, Long Island. I took care of it.” She tosses the phone at him, which he barely catches, and disappears into the kitchen. 

Grant ignores her, scrolling through his sent emails in a panic until he locates the one she had just sent back to the Dean. 

She’d declined the NDA and given full permission for the college to respond to whatever they felt was best. 

“ _Skye_.” His voice is laced with pained frustration. 

“Not your circus. Not your monkeys.” She calls from the kitchen. 

_What the hell did that even **mean**?_

He tracks her voice to where she is beginning to assemble the makings of a homemade pizza. 

Skye makes a point to keep her head down, refusing to meet his gaze as she spreads tomato sauce on the pre-made crust. He waits until she has finished meticulously applying more than the normal amount of cheese and slipped the pizza into the oven before planting himself in her path. 

“You sure about this?”

“Nope.” She cheerfully responds, ducking away from him. “But I _am_ sure about  not dragging you down with me.” 

Preventing him from trying to reason with her further is an incoming message from Trip. Because of _course_ she would have been in touch with him. He swallows a groan of frustration.

[ _Don’t take away her choices, man. She’s trying to do the right thing here._ ]

“Okay.” Grant sighs heavily, pocketing the phone. “Now what?”

“Now we get really drunk, rewatch that video, and critique my form.” Skye places a bottle of tequila on the counter along with two shot glasses and a lime. 

His eyebrows raise high. “You _sure_ about this?” He even doesn’t care that it’s fast becoming his token response these days.

“Nope.” When she meets his eyes this time, they are bright with unshed tears that she blinks back quickly. “But my mom always said I never did things by halves, so…” 

He methodically pours two level shots of tequila and slices off limes. Skye puts a little salt on her wrist, then does the same for him. 

She clinks her shot glass against his with a watery smile. “To bad choices and the special brand of fallout they bring.” 

“To a ninja with a heart of gold that she refuses to let people see,” Grant corrects firmly, knocking back his shot with practiced ease and smirking as she literally chokes on his words. 

Skye blinks, letting the alcohol settle in her system. Already the world has gone a little fuzzy around the edges. Popcorn wasn’t exactly enough to withstand the kind of heavy drinking they were probably going to get into but she didn’t really want to think about her life right now. 

“Thanks in advance for getting drunk with me,” she finally responds. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

Because his words sound more like a vow than a casual response, the likes of which have her feeling uncomfortable, Skye drinks tosses back her next shot with haste. “C’mon, Long Island. Let’s do this.” 

*

Skye wakes up disoriented. Again. 

There are more birds chirping than yesterday and her head feels slightly foggy. She cracks open one eye and then the other, noting gingerly that she doesn’t actually feel that bad – which is surprising, because she has a fuzzy memory of Grant slinging her over his shoulder and putting her to bed after she’d threatened one too many times to take his phone and send a blast to the media, confirming her identity without any lingering doubt – and the spiral of shame that had her resort to more tequila than she can ever remember having in her life. 

Her legs are admittedly wobbly as she slides from bed and shuffles into the bathroom to clean herself up somewhat. Just because Grant has seen her at her lowest doesn’t mean she has no pride. Cold water and concealer do wonders and she’s slipped into jeans and a novelty tee in no time, feeling remarkably more like herself than she has in days. 

In fact, she’s so focused on making a plan of what to do next that she nearly trips over Grant where he’s sprawled asleep on his stomach on the hallway floor. 

He grunts softly.

Skye pokes him gingerly with one toe. “Are you… _alive_?”

Grant rolls to his back with a pained groan. “How are you _standing_ right now.”

“I have Captain America metabolism,” she offers, slightly apologetic as he raises a hand to shade his eyes against the bright daylight. 

He lets loose a string of muttered curses that have her eyebrows raised at his creativity. 

“Well, at least your brain is still somewhat accounted for,” She folds her arms, regarding him with a half smile. 

“Skye.” Grant drags a hand down his face slowly. “If there was any part of you that ever cared about me… _please._ Dig up some Advil and the greasiest breakfast you can find.”

“Drama queen,” she snickers, tiptoeing away from him. “Go take a shower and meet me downstairs.”

He lifts a fist at her weakly and lets it fall heavily to his side. “This is how it ends for me.”

It isn’t until she’s making scrambled eggs with enough butter to make Paula Deen happy that it occurs to her she has absolutely _no_ idea why Grant would have fallen asleep on the floor outside her room. 

_Weird_. 

*

After a long hot shower and changing into clean clothes, Grant plows his way through breakfast in silence, preferring only to communicate in grunts and glares. 

Other than a few smiles she hadn’t been quick enough to hide, Skye has been mercifully quiet. She’d even set out Advil for him to swallow down with a huge glass of water and enough shredded home fries to make the queasy feeling in his stomach resolve itself into hunger. 

He decides to let her live, even if he privately thinks she’s making one of the worst decisions in her life. 

Skye putters around the house, doing some laundry and tidying the kitchen in the background while he takes stock of their situation. Aside from a few messages from his parents, his phone has been unusually quiet – which means that the Dean probably hadn’t broken the news yet. He’s not looking forward to going back to campus once the new hits, though there are probably some laws afforded to protect their anonymity to a certain degree since the media could only be allowed to disrupt things so far. 

John had sent a quick email earlier in the morning giving him an unofficial update on Phil’s progress (better than expected, would probably be discharged into a rehab nearby until he was deemed fully recovered) which freed them up from sticking around much longer but he wasn’t exactly in any rush to get back to campus. Classes weren’t due to start for another week and a half and other than Trip, there wasn’t really anything for them to go back for. 

He was debating the merits of broaching a potential roadtrip to Skye when the phone rang in his hand. 

“Hi Mom.” 

“Honey!” The relief in her tone is palpable. “Are you guys okay? How is Skye? What can we do?”

Grant tells himself not to be mad that they know about Skye despite that fact that he hasn’t gotten the chance to formally introduce her and hopes that the media hasn’t colored their opinion of her _too_ much. Of course his mother would know about her; John never lied to his sister in law and her request for Skye to join them for dinner obviously had to come from somewhere.

“We’re okay.” He gets up and stands in front of the window, waving off Skye, who has come to stare at him in concern. Grant waits until she’s walked away before he continues, “It was her decision to turn down the NDA from school. I offered our help, but she said they were her bad choices and refused to let me lift a finger.” 

“Smart girl.” Her voice is somewhat admiring. “But I know my son… and I also know that probably isn’t sitting well with you.” 

“It’s not.” He shifts the phone to rest between his shoulder and his ear so that he can fold his arms. “I don’t know what to do.” 

“That’s actually why I was calling.” Papers shuffle in the background and she clears her throat gently. “What would you think about coming back home for a little while? It would probably be a good idea to let things die down before you jump back into your classes.”

“I’m not leaving her, Mom. I made her uncle a promise that I’d look after her, and –” His throat gets tight for reasons he stubbornly refuses to acknowledge and decides not to focus on how it feels at the thought of Skye returning to campus without him. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.” 

“Grant.”

“Hmm?”

“Come home.” There’s a firmness to her voice that brooks no argument. “And for god’s sake, bring Skye with you.”

His jaw drops open. “But we’re already coming for dinner next week and –” 

“So come sooner. You know we have the space and I’d rather not think about that girl being on her own after the week she’s had.”

Grant doesn’t know what to say. 

Thankfully, Skye pries the phone from his hand and takes a deep breath before greeting his mother. “Mrs. Ward? This is Skye Coulson. I –” 

He watches in slightly growing amusement as Skye is slowly but politely steamrolled by his mother. 

“No ma’am… of course I didn’t mean – it’s just that I would hate to impose and –” Skye grits her teeth and swallows back a few choice words. “Absolutely. I will tell him that. Of course. We’ll see you tonight.” 

She ends the call, handing the phone back with a hearty glare. “You could have _warned_ me.” 

He grins widely. “Let’s call it even for last night.” 

“Hate you.” Skye shoves him without warning and thunders up the stairs. 

He laughing asks, “Where are you going?”

“To pack, you moron!” She calls out. “If I’m going to meet your parents, I’m certainly not doing it in ripped jeans and Converse!”

Grant looks down at his own worn jeans and shrugs. 

It’s been a trying week. Probably she’s lost her mind. 

*

They stop at the local nursery on the way because Skye insists on not going to meet his family empty-handed. 

 

(“We can stop closer to home and get something!”

“So we can be accosted by more people who know _exactly_ who you are and give the media a field day?! _Pass_.”)

 

He’s content to follow her around with an empty basket swinging from the crook of his elbow while she traverses the aisles for an appropriate gift. 

“I still can’t believe you _sprung_ her on me like that,” Skye can be heard muttering in front of him. “Does _anyone_ ever say no to her or do you all just give in at the earliest convenience because I –” 

At her abruptly ended diatribe, Grant looks up just in time to avoid colliding as Skye has stopped dead in her tracks. 

He catches sight of a young couple gaping at her as the color slowly drains from Skye’s face and revises his opinion of them being complete strangers to people she _definitely_ hadn’t wanted to see. More of the pieces fall into place as the young woman offers a somewhat tremulous smile, causing Skye to back up so fast that he’s forced to catch her at the elbows so that they both don’t go tumbling to the ground. 

“Hello Skye.” The curly haired guy says, a little hesitantly, like he’s afraid of spooking her further. 

Skye is still staring at them in silence when Grant finally puts the puzzle together. “Hello, Fitz.”

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHUFFLED SOME THINGS AROUND HERE WHOOPS GUESS YOU'RE NOT MEETING THE WARD FAMILY UNTIL THE NEXT CHAPTER AFTER ALL. 
> 
> SORRY NOT SORRY.


	16. sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka: the one where skye finally meets the ward family. (it goes about as well as you might think …which is to say: hilariously.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ITS A DOOZY, GUYS.

## | [college au headcanons](http://b-isforbombshell.tumblr.com/tagged/the-college-au-headcanons) | [**the college au fanmix**](http://b-isforbombshell.tumblr.com/post/111094671360/thatblueboxthey-dont-run-into-each-other-in-a) |

*

At the sound of his greeting, Skye visibly comes back to herself. She squares her shoulders and raises her chin deliberately. “Hey guys. Fancy seeing you here.” 

The girl (and Grant has a pretty good idea who she is) throws a pleading look to him. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Jemma Simmons and this is…”

Skye smirks. “Go on, Jemma. Fitz is your boyfriend. It’s not like everyone here doesn’t already know.” 

Now it is Fitz and Jemma who are stiffening in a bit of shock. 

Grant – thanks to his political upbringing, has always had a far greater read on human interaction and group dynamics than most people give him credit for – slings an arm around Skye’s shoulders companionably, pressing a kiss to her temple gently. He can feel the way she goes utterly motionless under his lips, but Skye is a lot tougher than she thinks, and rallies without needing to be prompted further. 

They are a pretty killer team when it comes down to it.

Without skipping a beat, she arches a brow at him, thumb sliding over his cheekbone softly. “You know we’re not supposed to be doing this in public…” 

Despite the fact that his heart had officially _stopped beating_ at the feeling of her hand on his face, he gamely proceeds. “Don’t really care what the media thinks, Skye,” Grant pulls her closer, well aware of the outrage building from their audience at their blatant dismissal. “I do what I want.” 

Bright humor comes into her eyes at his reference of one of her favorite movie villains and seems to give her the strength she needs to finally turn her attention back to her ex-friends. 

“What brings you guys here today?” Skye asks, as if it is no big that that she’s got approximately six feet plus of well-proportioned male draped around her. 

Fitz openly gapes at her. 

Jemma fumbles for words. “We were just shopping for a… recovery gift. Fitz’s mum said that your Uncle Phil was in recovery.” 

Skye, for her part, rolls with the unwelcome reminder of her current state of affairs. “He’s on the mend, thankfully.” 

Grant, in a continued effort to show his support (and stubbornly refusing to examine the urge any further), rests his chin on top of her head and smiles fondly. “After you raised hell with the nurses, I think they all learned that it’s better to steer clear of your bad side.” 

There is a brilliant sparkle in her eyes while she laughs at his words. The subtext is obvious enough to slam a person in the face – and judging by the way that Fitz and Jemma have gone white with emotion – she’s not the only one noticing. 

“Anyway.” He sighs with an air of deep regret and plucks the shopping basket from her arm. “Hate to do this but we really have to get going.” Grant leans in conspiratorially to Fitz, man to man, “Traffic, you know how it is.” 

Fitz looks vaguely ill with nerves.

(Grant can be very, _very_ charming when he wants to be.)

“Right.” Jemma attempts to wrestle control back of the situation by nodding decisively, appearing as though she wants to go in for a hug with Skye when Grant turns the full wattage of his best grin her way. Jemma aborts the motion, visibly locking her knees and can be seen grips Fitz’s hand for support. 

“Pleasure meeting you.” Grant leans down and gives Jemma a brief kiss on the cheek, ignoring the strangled noise she makes as he draws away. “A friend of Skye’s is a friend of mine.” 

Safely out of view behind his massive shoulders, Skye rolls her eyes. 

“I’m grateful she had such lovely folks looking after her all these years.” He finishes, clapping a solid hand on the other man’s shoulder with a firm squeeze.

“ _Okay_.” Skye clears her throat pointedly, drawing her friends’ star struck gaze away from him. “Fitz, tell your parents I said hello and thanks for looking after Phil.” 

Fitz mutely nods. 

Grant reaches back in with a devilish wink and an outstretched hand in Jemma’s direction – which Skye promptly intercepts, tangling their fingers together. “Let’s move out, cowboy.” The warning in her tone is unmistakable. 

He barely manages to hold back a pout as they disappear around the corner to pay the cashier for the succulents that Skye had deemed worthy of an appropriate gift for the Wards. 

“Not _one_ word,” She warns, glaring at him fiercely. 

“I didn’t say anything,” Grant laughingly protests as he unlocks the car. Deciding the play the part to the hilt, he comes around to open the door for her and – off her dark glare – reminds, “We have an audience, ninja.” 

“I will tell _every person_ that you sleep in tighty whities,” Skye vows with a snarl. 

“No one would believe it.” He kisses her forehead firmly, shutting the door on her angry protests. 

Skye waits until they are just about on the freeway before casually saying, “You really should have that thing _registered_.” 

And Grant swerves into the next lane so hard that nearby motorists honk at them for a good half a mile. 

*

(Later when they’re stopping for burgers and fries:

“I meant _your charisma,_ you doofus!”

“And _how was I_ supposed to know that?! You’d just finished discussing my underwear!”

“Grant, _please_. Give me a little credit.”

“I would really like to, but –”

“I already know you wear boxer briefs.”

He chokes on his soda.) 

*

Halfway through the drive when they’re just over the New York State border, Skye falls asleep. 

He’s grateful for several reasons: she’s been pushed to the limit emotionally over the past few days and it’s definitely taking it’s toll; her conversation with Phil half an hour ago left her looking drained, even though John had gotten on the phone and personally reassured them that he’d be looking after the man; she was pointedly _refusing_ to talk about what had happened with Fitz and Jemma – and there were _layers_ of things that he, personally, felt needed to be discussed. 

(While their teamwork was truly a thing of beauty, didn’t she think it was even a _little_ weird that they’d been able to maintain a quasi romantic cover _so effortlessly_? Because _he_ thought it was pretty weird.)

Clearly, an H-to-H would be in order once they arrived safely home. 

Saving him from further introspective thought was the vibration of his phone. Grant thumbs the call open without looking. “I honestly thought I’d be hearing from you sooner.”

“Well,” a female voice drawls, “I honestly thought I’d hear about the poor soul who decided to date your sorry ass _in person_ but we can’t always get what we want, now can we, Grant Douglas Ward?”

_Shit_. He’d thought it was Trip.

He closes his eyes briefly. “Kara.”

“Dick move, asshole.” But there is no heat behind her words. 

“Yeah.” Grant sighs, giving the brunette currently occupying all of his spare thoughts a lingering glance. He’s glad Skye won’t be awake for this conversation. “It’s kind of a long story… But we’re not dating.”

“Really?” And Kara is _not_ impressed. “Because I’m staring at a picture on _JustJared_ that has your arm around her in a _particularly_ friendly manner, followed by another where your lips are on her forehead as you help her into the car. Not sure what passes for it these days by _your_ standards, but around here? We call that _dating_.” 

He grins despite himself. “She was in a tough spot. I wanted to help her out.” Then he frowns, putting the scene together. “They already posted pictures of us from this afternoon?”

“You’re a hot topic, my friend.” Kara audibly closes a door and the sound of the ocean fills his ears. “Seriously, though. Everything okay? You know I worry.” 

He gauges the amount of time he has before the next toll plaza and decides to give her the cliff notes version. Even so, it takes a while to get through it – it’s not his story to tell and he wants to save as much of Skye’s dignity as possible – but he manages. 

After he’s finished, Kara savagely curses under her breath. “What the hell kind of friends _are_ they?!”

“I think,” Grant pauses, trying to consider the situation objectively as possible, “They were just really mixed up and couldn’t talk about their feelings.” 

“Sounds like another boy I know.” 

“ _And_ ,” he continues, pointedly ignoring her statement, “Skye is a force of nature. They were out of their depth.”

Kara hums contemplatively. “She sounds like a rockstar. Brave as hell… and props for those dance moves she busted out on the bar.”

He laughs, grateful for the lighter change in topic. “You can meet her tomorrow, if you want. We’re almost home.”

There is a grumble at his side and then Skye cracks an eye open. “If that is one of your harem girls, tell her I got your test results back from the doctor and they’re _mostly_ clean. You just need to keep an eye on that _rash_ –”

Kara bursts out laughing. “I already love her. See you in the morning.”

Grant ends the call with a dry look aimed in Skye’s direction. 

She shrugs. “What? I’m just trying to do you a favor; weed out the herd a little.” 

“I’m so sure,” he rolls his eyes, merging onto the Sunrise Highway/Route 27. “My parents are going to love you.”

At that reminder, Skye groans. “I still can’t believe I agreed to this.” 

*

When they arrive, Grant is thankful that no one is standing outside or has thought to hang balloons or streamers. (His mother had a serious _thing_ for hospitality and so say that the parties they’d had as children over the years had been elaborate was an _understatement_ , to say the least.)

He grabs their bags and heads for the front steps, only to look back and find that Skye is still staring at the house in a bit of wonder. 

“It’s just a house,” Grant rubs the back of his neck with a little embarrassment.

She shakes her head, dismissing the comment. 

They both know she’s no stranger to large houses; the one she grew up in with her parents isn’t exactly _small_ – but there’s something else about the way she takes the time, letting every detail of the slightly weathered by proud home sink in that gives him pause. Slowly she makes her way to his side, allowing a softer smile than he’s seen from her in a long time. 

“It’s a home.”

Grant pauses, trying to look at the details from an outsider perspective. 

Christian is still down in DC for the week, so his car is probably in one of the garages; Thomas has, once again, left his sporty red convertible parked on a haphazard angle (the kind that had him swearing under his breath when he tried pulling around it so he could park in his designated space); Rose left her bike cruiser leaning on the side of the house and a few things remain in the wicker basket (she’s probably going out first thing in the morning); and Mom has neatly stacked her gardening tools by the steps as she’s still in the stages of filling in the window boxes with new mandevilla vines and multicolored pansies. 

All his life, it just seemed natural to let down his guard when he cleared the iron gates up front – and he’d taken for granted the way things somehow felt lighter once they’d closed behind them. But there’s definitely a change and a comfort he has, being here now. Skye looks equal parts nervous and relaxed (the hurricane study in contradiction, as always) as she finally meets his eyes. 

“C’mon,” he grabs her hand, tugging her along as they enter the front door. 

She seems oddly reluctant to let her hand remain in his for much longer and he rolls his eyes, refusing to let her wriggle free. “MOM!” He yells in the general direction of the main house. “We’re _home_!!”

*

“Grant, honestly.” The woman who can only be Elizabeth Ward comes around the corner, wiping her hands on a towel. Her brown eyes are warm with affection as she regards her second child. “Your father is on a conference call with Washington –” with a start, Skye realises she means the White House, and not a person named _Washington_  “– and you’re going to have Skye think that we raised you without any manners.”

“I have no doubt you raised him with manners but he might be a bit of a lost cause now.” The statement slips out before she can help it. Skye cringes, closing her eyes in mortal embarrassment. 

Much to her delight, Elizabeth surprises her by laughing. “Oh, I like her,” she tells her son, giving him a quick kiss hello. “Go drop off the bags upstairs and say hello to your father while Skye and I get better acquainted.” 

He barely manages to disguise a chuckle into a cough. “Try to behave yourself, ninja.”

Skye throws him a pleading look in response but he just winks and leaves her at the mercy of his mother. “ _Traitor_ ,” she hisses at his back. 

“Skye,” Elizabeth says, recapturing her attention after Grant’s departure. She regards her with a fondness that Skye doesn’t think is entirely warranted at this point. “Thank you.” 

She can’t help it. Her jaw drops open. “Mrs Ward, I –”

“Call me Elle. Mrs Ward is my Mother in Law,” she shudders theatrically, putting a maternal arm around her shoulders and propelling along through the house. Skye has a brief impression of rich mahogany furniture and lots of books before they arrive in the kitchen, which is warm with natural light from the fading sunset and several pots that are burbling on the industrial range. 

“My son has never been one to really apply himself and focus – Grant has always been one to flit around, trying his hand with a little bit of everything – until he met you.” 

Skye clears her throat awkwardly, trailing her fingers on the countertop. “He’s just… bored easily.”

Elle raises a pointed eyebrow and Skye has the sensation that everything she’s ever felt for Grant ( _which is clearly only of the friendship category, **obvi**_ ) is written all over her face. 

“Skye. He’s a handful.”

And it’s official. She’s going to hell for the thoughts that are currently flying through her mind at Elle’s otherwise innocent statement. 

_Dear god this was his mother_.

“Well,” Skye clears her throat, boosting up on the nearest bar stool. “So am I.”

Elle busies herself with stirring the pasta and setting out the colander in the sink. “That might be the case, but we both know he can be a pain more often than not.” 

A surprised chuckle makes it way out of her mouth before she can stop it. “Amen.” 

Sensing a story is afoot, Elle smiles to herself as she slices the fresh baguette that is meant to be served with dinner. She pours a little oil into a dish with fresh herbs and slides it over to the younger woman. “I imagine the first time you met was somewhat of a disaster.”

“You have _no_ idea,” Skye agrees, biting into the warm bread gratefully. 

“You have to tell me how badly he bungled it,” she slides a small glass of red wine over. “He’s all thumbs with strong women.”

“Trying to get me drunk and spill all my secrets?” Skye teases, somehow charmed and set at ease by the entire scene despite herself. Being considered a strong woman certainly doesn’t hurt.

“If it works,” Elle shrugs, clearly unrepentant as she tops off her own glass. 

It seems like she’d just met Grant yesterday but it also feels a lifetime ago. She has a hard time remember what her life was really like without him in it, to be honest. (Which is a bit more worrisome thought than she’d care to truly examine.)

With a shake, Skye comes back to herself. “It started when he tried to charm me out of a pencil…” She begins, leaning back to get comfortable. 

“Ward men,” Elle shakes her head in disgust. “Too damn charismatic for their own good.” At Skye’s pointed look, she defends, “Why do you think I’m married to one?”

*

Skye later meets Grant’s father Jack and instantly knows where her friend’s rogue grin and twinkling eyes come from. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Skye,” he says, bending low to kiss her cheek in greeting. 

She resolutely tells herself _not_ to blush. 

“Heard my wife tried to get you drunk and spill all your secrets earlier.” 

“ _Mom_!” Grant wants to die. 

“Jack!” Elle glares at her husband, shoving him away when he attempted to come in for an embrace. “We were just having a bit of girl talk.” 

“I know what passes for girl talk these days,” Jack says, holding a chair out for his wife, briefly skimming the nape of her neck with his thumb as she slides into the seat. “You’re screwed,” He regretfully informs his son. 

Grant actually has his head in his hands and is audibly moaning.

Skye ruffles his hair into disarray on her way to her seat, easily dodging the hand that he flings out in an attempt to ward her off. “Oh, Long Island… you didn’t tell me they were fun.” 

“Long Island?” Elle asks, barely hiding a smile behind her wineglass. 

“It’s a nickname,” She explains, somewhat unnecessarily.

“They aren’t fun, they’re _terrible_ ,” comes Grant’s muffled response. “You guys are all horrible and I hate you.” 

“He’s badly socialised,” Jack says by way of apology. “We spent years and hundreds of dollars on etiquette classes, but,” he shrugs, shaking his head. “There are just some things you can’t teach.”

“I can’t _believe_ you guys.” 

Elle winks at her, sliding over the colossal sized bowl of pasta. “Dig in, Skye. Grant says you’re the only person he’s ever met who can keep up with his eating habits.” 

“Did he _really_?” She aims a venomous look at her friend. “He’s too _kind_.” 

“Hey, now. Trip and I pretty much doubled our grocery bill once you started coming around.”

“Oh, you mean when your grades suddenly skyrocketed into straight A’s as a result of my influence?” Skye sweetly inquires, stealing the garlic bread from his plate with a triumphant glare. 

It should be awkward, the four of them eating dinner, having never met Skye before – but it’s actually really nice. She’s fascinated by the way Jack and Elle flirt with each other throughout dinner (much to Grant’s eternal mortification) and how they razz their son with the best of intentions (but clearly love him beyond measure). 

The Wards fill in the blanks with regards to the rest of the family’s whereabouts –

(“Christian will be home by the weekend after he finalises the bill he’s working on –”

“That boy works too hard, Jack –”

“Takes after his mother, no doubt –”

“Honestly, I already told you I made your favorite for dessert there’s no need to lay it on so thick, for god’s sake we have company, _behave_!”)

 

( “Rosie’ll be around tomorrow morning in time for breakfast, she’s at a sleepover with her friends.”

“That only leaves our wild child, then…”

“Well, I think an argument can be made that they were _all_ pretty wild at one point or another… He’s probably just chasing some girl again.”

“Jack, it’s not polite to throw Thomas under the bus when he isn’t here to defend himself.”

“Be reasonable, Elle. Thomas would likely join in and you know it.” 

“You’re not wrong.”)

 

– and for the first time in weeks, Skye feels relaxed. She doesn’t touch her wine for the rest of the night, preferring to sip water so that her impressions of the Ward family can remain crystal clear and permanently imprinted in her mind. 

She catches Grant staring at her with a strange look every so often until she finally leans in, curiously. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, with a smile to himself. When she raises an eyebrow in challenge, Grant changes the subject loudly, drawing Jack and Elle into the conversation. 

And the two are so wrapped up in defending their points of view that they don’t notice the glances exchanged between his parents. 

(Which is probably for the best, all things considered.)

*

Elle ropes Jack into cleanup duty and insists that they go off and relax for the rest of the night. When Skye tries to ignore her and take her dishes to the sink, the older woman calls for her son. Grant promptly solves the problem by slinging Skye over his shoulder, blatantly ignoring her shrieked protests as he walks them outside. 

He insists on taking her on a tour through the grounds and she allows him to keep her close by way of an arm loosely slung over her shoulder. 

“I like them,” Skye finally says, staring out at the ocean. 

“I hoped you would.” 

“They’re really great.” She tilts her head up to him, and something about the intensity that he’s staring at her has the words clogging up in her throat. “Grant, I –”

“Well, well. If it isn’t my delinquent older brother returning home… No wonder Mom cooked your favorite.” 

Something about the newcomer’s voice has Skye going still. 

“Thomas,” Grant responds flatly, turning around to see his younger brother grinning mischievously. 

Thomas, for his part, seems intently focused on Skye with an almost maniacal expression that Grant can’t make sense of. 

“ _You_.” Her eyes flare wide with recognition and Thomas’s grin, somehow, seems to grow wider. 

“Uh, Skye?” Grant is totally lost. 

Without taking her eyes off Thomas, Skye asks, “Have your parents finished cleaning up yet?”

Grant frowns at the non sequitur, but dutifully turns to check. The kitchen lights are off and the downstairs is quiet. “Yeah.”

“Good.” She fishes her phone and car keys from her back pocket and shoves them into his hands. Then, in a move almost too quick to anticipate, she tackles Thomas and sends them both into the pool.

*

When Skye pushes to the surface for air, shivering violently, Grant is absolutely speechless. 

Someone is clapping loudly. 

A towel lands at the edge by where she’s heaved herself out of the cold pool and she wraps it around herself gratefully.

There’s a brunette with legs for _days_ standing on the steps, presumably the one who had thrown the towel as Grant is still standing motionless in shock. “I just want you to know that you’re officially my new best friend. Thomas had that one coming for a _while_.”

It takes Skye very little time to switch gears, putting the newcomer’s face with the phone call from the car ride earlier. 

Grant confirms it by mumbling a pained, “Dammit, Kara,” under his breath. 

Skye gives Kara a look of consideration, the pieces visibly coming together for her. “Wait a second. You knew how we’d met?”

“Please.” Kara folds her arms companionably, like she’s settling in for the long haul. “He’s like a virus. I can’t get rid of him and the boy tells me _everything._ ”

“Not _everything_ ,” Thomas sulks, attempting to wring out the sleeves of his henley. Water drips in a steady stream from where he stands, collecting in a puddle at his feet.

“ _Everything_.” Kara confirms.

“Can someone _please_ explain what the _hell_ is going on?” Grant yells, glaring hard at all three of them. 

Skye shoots Thomas a dirty look. “Remember when you left for break and I told you about a guy who tried to force his way into your suite?” When he stares at her dumbly, not comprehending, she rolls her eyes and jerks a thumb at Thomas. “It was _this_ jackass.” 

“I _resent_ –”

“– You mean you _resemble_ ,” Kara loftily corrects Thomas, boosting herself on the low brick half fence that surrounds the pool grounds. He shoots her a deeply betrayed look that she promptly ignores.

Grant is extremely frustrated as he turns to his brother. “But you were here for breakfast that morning and you didn’t say a word.”

“Gosh,” Thomas widens his eyes innocently, “Must have _just_ missed you.” 

When Grant looks like he’s about to tackle his brother and throw him back into the pool, Thomas scrambles behind Kara, curling a hand around her ankle in a desperate and transparent attempt to save his own hide – or at least take her with him if anyone got ideas.

Kara rolls her eyes, turning to Skye in favor of ignoring the Ward brothers entirely. “Now that _that’s_ settled… I have a few stories that you might be interested in hearing when we were all at summer camp a few years ago…”

“Tell me more,” Skye grins in delight. 

“ _KARA_!” Thomas and Grant cry in outrage.

* * *

for those of you who are wondering (and may not have seen this before), jack and elle ward:

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ y'all long know my weakness for thomaskara. YOU ALL HAD TO KNOW THIS WAS COMING.  
> \+ also kudos to those of you in chapter 10 who had a sly hunch that it was MAYBE thomas at the door. WELL DONE, FRIENDS. 
> 
> \+ i honestly feel like this might be wrapping up? i mean, RL college au grant and i are... in the same holding pattern we typically are and i'd like to give this somewhat of a better ending, _so_. STAY TUNED. 
> 
> \+ [tumblr](http://b-isforbombshell.tumblr.com).  
> \+ also if for some reason you decide to watch the finale again, here's the [skyeward drinking game](http://b-isforbombshell.tumblr.com/post/144534880625/the-skyeward-finale-drinking-game) to get you through it. DON'T SAY I NEVER GAVE YOU ANYTHING.


	17. seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka: _the one where skye learns how they do things out on the island. (it’s about as much of a disaster as you might think.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY I BET YOU THOUGHT I FORGOT ABOUT THIS DIDN'T 'CHA????
> 
> WELL GUESS WHAT. I DIDN'T.
> 
> also MAD PROPS to sam, who held my hand through the entire process of me jumping back into this.

*

_Help yourself to whatever kind of rocket fuel you need. went out to get some things from the market after pilates. back soon. --E._

That’s the friendly note in the kitchen that greets Skye when she stumbles downstairs, desperately in search of coffee. _  
_

Thankfully the Ward family are strong believers in caffeine, so she has her choice of espresso, various (and frankly, _illegally strong looking_ ) teas, standard hot coffee percolating in the corner, and a wicked looking cold brew from a local roastery. 

“When in Rome,” she muses, following the directions and mixing the proportions correctly. 

Her phone buzzes. It’s Trip. 

[ _how’s life out there in the island?_ ]

Skye waits to respond until she’s traipsed through the backyard and down the stairs off the back cliffs that lead to the beach to respond with a picture of the sunrise. 

[ _i hate waking up to views like this._ ]

She says nothing of the inner peace she had upon waking that morning, or the feeling of safety and contentment after spending less than 24 hours with Grant’s family. 

It would be _far_ too easy to let herself fall into the kind of thinking where this was a permanent part of her life, that access to this place, this _family_ , was something she could have on the regular. It’s all heavy stuff and probably too much to be dealing with this early in the morning, and thoroughly under-caffeinated at that. 

She can practically _hear_ his laugh in her ear when he writes back. 

[ _damn girl. make sure you get a night out on the town. they might be a bit stuffy at first, but those islanders know how to party after you get a few drinks in them..._ ]

Skye’s eyebrows lift in speculation. “So noted.”

“Talking to yourself again, ninja?”

Grant is standing behind her with his hands shoved into his (in her opinion _far too low slung_ ) pajama pockets and a thick hoodie halfway zipped up his chest.

“They say it’s a sign of higher intelligence,” She retorts, turning back to watch the waves come in. She hasn’t felt this at peace in a long time. It’s so nice just to slow down for a while.  

He drops onto the sand beside her and swipes the coffee from her unsuspecting hands. 

“Hey!”

 _It means **nothing** that his eyes do **that thing** when he’s making fun of me_. _Get a GRIP, self._

There is considerably less coffee remaining when he folds her fingers back around the tall glass and tops it off with a wink. “Good stuff.” 

“So says the _thief_ ,” she scowls, gulping down the rest in a move both preventative and borne of selfish non-sharing tendencies. 

Grant’s still smiling at her with this weird softness in his eyes that is borderline disturbing because it’s causing her heart to kick into _CARDIAC ARREST_.

She has to do something to salvage her dignity. 

“Sure beats waking up to Trip snoring, huh?”

_Wow are you ever smooth. No one would_ **ever** _suspect you have weird unresolved feelings that you refuse to address in regards to your stupidly handsome ~~best~~ friend._

He immediately reaches for his phone with a devilish look in his eyes. 

“Grant.” 

He continues to ignore her. 

“Grant, don’t you _dare_ tell him I said that. He’ll never make me breakfast again.” 

He shrugs. “Guess you should have thought of that _before_ you insulted my roommate.”

“So help me god, I will push you into that ocean and it doesn’t look like it’s swimming season yet...” 

Grant cocks his head to the side, momentarily pausing in his quick text message. “I’ve got about 60 pounds of muscle and several inches on you. I think we both know how this would end.” 

Quick as a flash, Skye snags his phone and crows triumphantly. “Yeah but I’m like greased lightning, baby!” 

_...Greased lightning? Could you have come up with a_ **more** _lame reply?_

Her triumph is short lived, as Grant moves swiftly to toss her over his shoulder  and move towards the shoreline _with purpose_. 

“Our _phones_ , you idiot!”

“How could I forget,” He murmurs, twisting to grab both devices from her clutches to toss them to safety up on the sand. “It’s such a great day for a swim.”

“Grant, don’t you _DA_ \--”

Skye’s response is cut off by her blood-curdling shriek as he plunges them both into the ocean. 

*

Elle is in the midst of pulling breakfast together when she hears the scream and nearly drops the eggs in the process. 

“What the devil?” Jack looks out the window, trying to suss out the situation. 

“If those rowdy neighborhood kids are up to no good again,” she warns, passing in front of him to grab her tea. 

He starts laughing when he catches sight of the two figures coming up the back steps. “Not the neighborhood kids, dear.” 

“What?” 

Jack lifts his chin to where a soaking wet Grant is carrying an upside-down _furious_ Skye. 

“Oh my,” Elle does her best to compose herself as Grant literally _squelches_ through the door. 

“Hi guys,” he offers, cheerfully. He seems completely oblivious to the angry pounding coming from the waterlogged girl hanging over his shoulder. “Just gonna go take a shower and then I’ll be down for breakfast.” 

Elle decides discretion is the better part of valor and elects not to respond. 

Jack, however, has no such compulsions. He waits until Grant is halfway up the stairs before calling out, “ _Separately_ , I hope, _Grant Douglas_!”

There is a series of loud thuds, followed by Skye’s muffled cursing that can be clearly heard all the way in the kitchen. 

“ _It’s bad enough you lose your mind and force me into the ocean BUT THEN YOU DROP ME ON THE STAIRS IN YOUR OWN HOUSE, YOU **IDIOT**_?!”

Jack smiles blissfully, lifting his mug to his wife. “Those two’ll be married in another five years. I’m calling it now.” 

“ _Jack_ ,” Elle covers her quick smile with a hand across her mouth. “Behave.” 

*

Kara is officially her new favorite person. 

 

— **THREE (3) MISSED CALLS FROM** : _that jackass who worries about your violent streak (sometimes)._ — 

 

The leggy brunette hands the phone back over with a low whistle. “That boy needs to check himself. You owe it to all of mankind to make him sweat out this entire day.” 

Skye flops backward onto the bench, flinging out her limbs dramatically. “I can’t say anything right because because my internal filter is severely compromised due to lack of food.” 

“You really _are_ a bottomless pit,” Kara muses, nodding to the hostess and kicking lightly at Skye’s ankle to signal her to follow them into the dining room.

There’s a table of prepster polo boys sitting in the corner, paying them _far_ too much attention -- “What, have they never seen _women_ before?” -- which has Kara smirking in camaraderie. 

“I get weird when I go too long without food,” Skye replies, unapologetic, as the hostess finally seats them. “I need snacks constantly.” 

“No wonder Grant and Trip love you.” 

Even though she knows Kara doesn’t mean anything by it, the statement has Skye’s heart tripping beats. 

She clears her throat. “So. Give me the dirt on these stupid boys. I need blackmail material.” 

And Kara smiles winningly. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

The table of boys from earlier has only gotten louder during their time in the dining room and show no signs of stopping soon, especially judging by the sheer number of beer bottles they’ve managed to accumulate between them.

The girls do their best to tune them out, even ignoring the one ~~brave~~ imbecile who strolls over and does his best to casually plop in the open chair at their table, pleading with them to let him sit there for just five minutes so he can win the bet his buddies made and score the promised hundred dollars therein. 

Kara and Skye send him packing with matching death glares (and maybe a fork in a _precarious_ position.)

They’re about halfway through lunch (and well into the fabled _summer camp_ days) when a head of lettuce comes _hurtling_ through the air and basically _nails_ Skye in the head.

Skye goes completely still. With great dignity, she watches as the remaining stray leaves slide down her head and land on the table. She flexes her hands once, and shoves back from the table with intent. 

Kara sets a warning hand on her forearm. “Skye, don’t. Boys are stupid. Let this one go, seriously.”

Skye shoots her an incredulous look. “Are you kidding me right now? They deserve to be _flayed alive_.”

No one has _ever_ done anything like this to her before. This is _absurd_. She’s going to go over there and _set them on fire_. 

“This is what drunk boys do. Take it from me.” 

“...You’re an _only_ child? Just like me?”

Kara rolls her eyes. “Not growing up with Grant and Thomas living next door.” She’s quiet, no doubt pondering their past history together. “Christian too, for that matter.” 

“You really want me to sit here and _do nothing_?” 

To Skye, a greater sacrifice could not have been asked of her. She is the literal embodiment of _reaction_. She has a terrible poker face. There’s absolutely _no way_ those jackasses don’t know that she’s gunning for them right now. 

“I didn’t say we were going to do _nothing_ ,” Kara promised slyly, pulling a small bottle from her purse and catching the server’s eyes. 

Skye reads the label on the bottle and can barely keep from howling in laughter as the server palms the bottle with a wink.  

*

They stumble out of the restaurant nearly in _hysterics_. 

The bellhop offers to call them a car but Kara waves him off weakly, somehow managing to dig out the keys from her seemingly bottomless crossbody purse. 

Skye pours herself into the passenger side and lets the tears stream freely down her face. “You had _laxatives_ in your purse? _Who **does** that_?”

She shrugs, putting the car in gear and heading back home. “You never know who’s going to piss you off that day.” 

“I _cannot believe_ ,” Skye wipes at her eyes, not even caring that she’s probably smearing her mascara. “That’s amazing. If by some miracle you weren’t already? You’re officially my hero.” 

Kara accepts this as her due. “I’m honored. You’re not so bad yourself though... getting Playboy Grant Ward to attend class and not skip out for midterms.“

She rolls her eyes. “Please. Why does everyone assume he’s stupid. The boy is just bored out of his mind. He just needs to focus.” 

“Mmmm.” Kara responds noncommittally. 

And _that_ is a statement Skye isn’t touching with a ten foot pole. She scrambles for anything to change the subject. “Listen, thanks for taking me out to lunch. _Lettuce Incident_ aside... it’s been really nice to have a friend to hang out with who doesn’t need to check their fantasy football scores ten thousand times a day.” 

“Of course.” Kara pulls into the long driveway and honks twice at the groundskeeper tending to the flowers outside. “I try to limit my checking to once every three hours.” 

Skye laughs, following her into the house. 

She doesn’t get much by way of impressions before Kara is sweeping her into a large bedroom, dominated by a  barre installed at the longest end the room. It seems largely abandoned, judging by the sheer volume of clothing and accessories draped over it in haste. There’s a couple of well worn catching mitts dangling off the far end and a small crate of clearly-used softballs.

 _Who_ **is** _this girl_?

“So I’ve decided we’re going out tonight,” Kara says, totally derailing Skye’s train of thought. “You’re going to need something to wear other than jeans.” 

Skye peers with curiosity at the huge closet that’s standing with doors flung open. “No offense, Legs but we’re hardly the same size.” 

Kara waves her off. “Just rifle through until you find something you like. My mother lives in Paris. She sends me more clothes than I’ll ever wear, even if I changed three times a day _Carrie Underwood_ style.” 

The blase mention of her mother has weird emotion prickling at the back of her throat but something about the forced blandness to her friend’s tone tells her to tread lightly. 

“Right,” Skye steps around a tower of shoeboxes piled higher than her waist. “There’s gotta be something in here that’ll fit my butt.”

Kara snickers. “Or die on the battlefield trying to contain it.” 

*

Skye refuses to talk to him for the rest of the day. 

After she showers for an inordinately long period of time, and dresses in clothes that look _suspiciously_ like they were pilfered from his closet, she takes off for parts unknown.

He hasn’t heard from her in over four hours and she won’t respond to any of his text messages or calls. 

Grant is halfway prepared to call in a few favors and organise a search party when Thomas ambles into the room and plops down on the couch. 

“Relax. Your beloved ninja is hanging out with Kara. She’ll be fine.” 

Even as he tells himself it was ridiculous to have gotten that worked up in the first place, Grant blandly responds, “I wasn’t worried at all.” 

Thomas smirks, as if to say ‘ ** _that’s_** _the part of the statement you’re objecting to?’_ before reaching for the spare controller. “Yeah right. Not worried. That’s why you’ve been getting _creamed_ by the computer characters; which I know for a _fact_ Rosie set on _easy_ the last time she played.”

He’s halfway to reaching for the plug when Thomas throws out a lazy kick, halting his progress. 

_This is an unholy alliance and must be stopped. There has to be another way_.

Grant tries to appeal to his younger brother. “You _do_ realise that Kara will tell Skye terrible stories about both of us?”

Thomas, the overly confident fool, takes his eyes off of Rainbow Road to stare at him for a full ten seconds. 

(Neither of them see as his character crosses the finish line in triumph.)

“I’ve got nothing to hide.” 

In lieu of response, Grant nearly laughs himself sick.

*

They agree to meet the boys there. Kara gets a text from Thomas that they’re five minutes out and appears mostly indifferent to her friend’s plight.

Skye tugs -- in vain -- at her low cut top, willing it to drape just a little more over the curve of her backside. “May I remind you, _yet again_ , that these pants were _not_ made for this?”

Kara shrugs. “It’s not my fault that you honestly busted a seam in that skirt you wanted to wear. Your ass is a thing of beauty. Let it fly free, my friend.” 

Skye mumbles under her breath, questioning the wisdom that had the two of them killing a bottle of prosecco before they Ubered to the Boathouse and attempts to emulate her friend’s poise. 

Kara’s tipped her face to the sky to soak up the last of the sunset, looking more at peace than Skye has ever seen her when -- 

“Hey! Legs at the railing!” Thomas vaults over the velvet-roped off area and takes the steps two at a time to where they are. “Well don’t you babes clean up nicely...” 

“Call me a _babe_ again....” Kara threatens, eyes still closed but there’s a hint of a smile curling on her face. 

“She loves it,” he mock whispers to Skye, putting his arm around her, then Kara as she slips away from her quiet moment, directing them both to the door, where his brother is waiting. 

Grant’s already dealt with the bouncer and paid their cover. Grant’s hands are shoved deep into his pockets, and the rest of his body language is screaming that he’s clearly penitent for dunking Skye that morning. 

Skye flicks a cool look in his direction and sails into the pulsing club to the background noise of Thomas’s delighted “ _Hoo boy are you in the doghouse or **what**?_ ” -- and instantly regrets her decision.

*

Skye hates parties. 

Actually, that’s not true. 

She doesn’t _hate_ parties. 

 

She just doesn’t really like being around eleventeen billion people --

 

Grant: “ _Relax_ drama queen, there aren’t eleventeen billion people here, there’s more like 75.”

 

\-- or feeling like it’s ten thousand degrees --

 

Kara: “Take off the jacket, hot stuff, and see if that doesn’t help with your hot flashes.”

 

\-- or being pawed at by drunken frat boys all night. 

 

Thomas: “Yeah, no. You should _definitely_ stick close to me because I _swear_ I will treat you better than any of them ever could.” 

 

Skye pulls out of her _not-so-inner_ monologue to glare at him directly. “ _Really_?”

His grinning -- and no doubt _salacious_ \-- response is cut off by Kara’s exaggerated groan of pain. 

“What’s wrong?” Thomas stops leering at Skye immediately and turns to Kara with the kind of concerned sincerity that should have left at least _one_ of them scratching their heads at in wonder. 

(But that is what _pregaming_ was invented for, folks.)

“My blockhead ex is here.” 

It’s kind of amazing how the sound of Thomas grinding his back molars can be heard in the loud bar. “You’re going to have to _clarify_ that one, Ace.”

Kara glares at him, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Remember Crosby? The infantile politician I asked Christian to set me up with?”

“Was _that_ ever a _mistake_ ,” he mumbles, knocking back half of his beer. 

“ _Anyway_ ,” Kara turns to Skye and Grant, “He’s here. And he’s a total jackass and I just _can’t_ tonight, okay?” 

And Skye, who has been feeling exceptionally charitable towards the other girl -- especially since Kara revealed a metric ton of dirt on both boys that should provide excellent blackmail material for the next _decade_ \-- is about to sweep in with some grand scheme, designed to take Kara’s mind off of things, only to have Thomas beat her to it. 

“Dance with me.” He holds his hand out to her, impatience clearly visible as he starts to edge towards the crowd below. 

“I don’t really think...” 

“You think too much,” Thomas decides, locking a firm hand around her waist and dragging her away. 

*

Skye tilts her head to the side and casts a speculative glance toward their companions. “Do you think she’ll kill him before the song is over?”

Grant somehow manages not to jump for joy at the fact that she’s deigned to speak to him after a radio silence of seven hours and twenty three minutes. (Not that he’s counting.) 

He turns his back on the crowd to give her his full attention. “Despite all the bravado, they really _are_ good friends.” 

Skye’s grin widens considerably as she takes in the scene behind him. “For the sake of science, I’d like to clarify: How _good_ of friends would you say, exactly?” 

“I mean. Kara grew up next door to us. We’ve all known each other for years. Why?”

“Because, Long Island...” Skye slings her arm through his elbow, forcing him to turn around and take in the crowd below, surrounding Thomas and Kara. “That is some _dirty_ dancing.” 

Grant _chokes_. 

Then he abandons his drink -- and her -- and takes off to confront their erstwhile “friends.”

*

Skye elbows closer to the bartender and offers him her most winning smile. “Vodka grapefruit, please.”

She counts it as a personal win that he doesn’t even ask for ID as he slides the drink over. 

“It’s on the house,” he grins playfully. “We try to take care of our visitors here on the island.” 

Some of the high wears off at the reminder that she doesn’t totally fit in with the upscale, posh crowd and their somewhat confusing ways ( _like whose idea was it to wear all white to a club? why couldn’t anyone wear flip flops? how come they refused to stamp hands or slap on wristbands but instead made them salute the bouncer on their way in???_ ). She thanks him anyway and moves away from the bar to overlook the railing instead. 

_I’ve been off my game since I woke up in a house that made me ache for home. Pull it_ together, _self._

“I’m Chase,” comes a loud voice from her right. 

Skye turns to favor the owner of said voice with a dry glance. 

_A rich frat boy is still a frat boy. Hell to the no_. 

“You’re new here. I can totally show you the best places around.”

With a minuscule lift of her brows, she glances back to where Thomas and Kara are currently doing something better done _privately_ and with _far less clothing_. 

_Good friends, my ass. This is where the_ real _story is, folks. Stick around. Maybe we’ll find out the truth._

“So you dance on top of bars but you’re too stuck up to say hello?”

And she’s _had it_ with this stupid town and their stupid lettuce chucking morons and entitled pricks. 

_Enough. Time to shut this loser down.  
_

Even knowing that giving him _any_ kind of response is exactly the kind of reaction he’s looking for, Skye can’t help but respond: “Hardly. I just prefer to dance on top of bars for the _right_ people.”

At his deeply suggestive look -- she should have known better than to expect a backhanded insult to fully land -- Skye bluntly clarifies, “Not you.” 

His brows draw together in a frown. “Do you even know _who_ I am?”

This time, the smile that comes to her face is entirely real. “Does it really matter?”

(Never let it be said that she doesn’t confront her battles _head on_ , regardless of how ill-advised it might be at the time.)

Chase grabs her by the arm and pulls her close. “Listen, _coyote ugly_ \--” 

\-- And that’s Skye tosses the remains of her drink directly into his face. 

She graciously accepts a few dry napkins from the trio of girls on her left, drying off her fingers with precision. Then she steps forward, making sure to ground her sharp heel into the top of Chase’s _oh so perfect_ tan dock shoes. 

“No, _you listen_ , pretty boy. Putting your hands on a woman is not the way things work. _Grow_ up.” She pushes him away with a barely-tempered shove in the opposite direction, acknowledging the low cheers thrown her way. 

She’s about halfway to the dance floor when a gentle hand reaches out, tugging her close. 

“Relax,” Grant murmurs, automatically catching her arm as it flies up in defense and handing her a fresh drink.

“Where _were_ you? Accosted by a bunch of girls wanting to join your harem?”

(It’s probably safe to say her nerves are still humming with adrenaline.)

He smirks. “Believe it or not, I was on my way to defend your honor when I saw that you had it under control.” 

Somewhat mollified, Skye sips her drink and shrugs. “I didn’t ask to be a professional idiot tamer but I suppose we all have our crosses to bear.” As if coming to decision, she knocks back the rest of her drink and clears her throat. “After all, look at you.”

The smirk on his face is downright _filthy_. “Who said I was tamed?” 

Her stomach triple barrel rolls. 

_Why is my ~~best~~ friend so damn attractive?_

“Did Thomas and Kara _bleed_ pheromones all over you, because --”

The sound of their names do the trick of snapping him out of it. 

“I don’t know what’s going on with them.” Grant moans. 

She snickers. “If I have to _tell_ you, somebody hasn’t been doing it right.” His eyes grow huge. “What? _You_ started it!”

 _That’s_ right _, I’m talking about this invisible line you seem determined to keep us from crossing, sir_.

He puts his head into his hands, covering his eyes. “She said her ex was a pathetic, jealous scumbag.” 

“Yeah, _and_?”

“And Thomas _loves_ to dance.” 

“So they’re sexing it up down there just for _fun_? This is a _tradition_ you guys have out here? Casual grinds between friends?”

Grant raises his head to aim a sour look in her direction. “Let’s just blame this one on the alcohol, okay?” 

The barely tamped fire in his eyes has her quickly rethinking the half-drunken offer she was about to extend on behalf of furthering said “tradition,” and she can’t tell if she’s disappointed or relieved by that.

“Sure, Long Island.” Skye inches closer until she can rest her head comfortably against his shoulder. “Works for me.”

*

There are a couple near mishaps --

 

(Like the girl who tried to move in on Grant when Skye went to grab them drinks at the bar: 

“You told her I had _CRABS?!”  
_

“It seemed the most expedient way to get rid of the problem.”

“Don’t throw SAT words at me and try to talk you way out of this!”)

 

 

(And everything in the Uber home was kind of a blur:

“Thomas, _please_ let go of Kara’s thigh so you can pay the driver.”

“Bro, like you’re one to talk; you’ve had your hand around Skye’s waist since Chase Hamilton tried to make his move.”

“That was _amazing_ , by the way, Skye. Power to the _She_.”

“I just don’t like it when people get in my personal space, you know?”

“Yeah, we can _really_ tell.” 

In stereo: “...Shut up, Thomas.”)

 

\-- But mostly they get home in one piece long after midnight.

Thomas and Kara peel off almost immediately after they stumble out of the car, laughter carrying well enough as they disappear through the hedges separating the property line for her house. 

_Don’t go down to the woods today, children._

Grant stares after them, looking adorably confused until Skye taps repeatedly on his arm. “Cmon, piggyback ride.” 

“It’s easier when I just throw you over my shoulder.” 

She glares. “I am not a sack of something you can just --” He lunges for her and she stumbles back, just out of reach, and nearly falling over her own feet. “ _Grant DOUGLAS_.” 

He snickers quietly, finally turning around and crouching low. “Hop on.” 

With her arms draped over his shoulders, and her knees clamped around his waist, Grant stands tall and they make their way inside. 

As they lumber through the front door and head for the stairs, Skye bends her head low, hair falling forward and nearly obscuring his vision completely. “Don’t drop me.” 

“Never,” he promises, reaching one hand free to pat her on the head. 

Without the additional anchor to keep her steady, Skye lists alarmingly to one side, clutching at him frantically. “ _Long Island_!!” 

“Ooops.” Grant repositions until she’s secure once more. “Where do you think Thomas and Kara went off to?”

She shudders. “Someplace I’d rather not be.” 

He freezes. “Can you not.” His voice is tightly strained. “Do that while you’re plastered to my back.” 

There’s definitely something here that she’s not getting but the alcohol coma is setting in and she needs a flat surface, _stat_. 

_Maybe it’ll all make sense in the morning_...

*

They’ve almost made it to the top of the stairs when he can sense the alcohol coma fully setting in. 

“Sure thing,” Skye answers after an extremely delayed fashion, and he can feel her arms slipping loose as she begins to fall asleep. 

Swearing, Grant pauses halfway up the stairs to shift her more securely into his arms. “Lightweight,” he affectionately chuckles. 

It’s dark and it’s late and he is definitely blaming that on his half-drunk reasoning to lay Skye down on the nearest bed that he finds. 

(If it turns out to be his, well. There were worse decisions to be made.)

(...Probably.)

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've always said that i wanted to finish the college au, because it is based on RL events and a relationship that is near and dear to my heart. i made this part of the series private because i was afraid of it getting out into the wrong hands and then sat on it for nearly two years while i thought about what i was going to do and where the story was going to go since it seemed like the RL path had finally, after nearly a decade of history, hit a dead end. 
> 
> and then i thought... _no way_. this story belongs to you guys as much as it belongs to me, and even if it doesn't have the ending i thought that _i_ would have, i still want to tell it. 
> 
> so i'm _back_. (for now.)
> 
> other things of importance: 
> 
> \+ i wrote something called [the lara au](http://archiveofourown.org/series/363812) \-- if you haven't read it, i would beg you do so because it's literally my lifeblood and the thing is spanning years ~~and continents~~ of my life. 
> 
> \+ the Lettuce Incident really _DID_ occur. that happened to me. in vegas. there were drunken frat boys. i had to be restrained from extracting revenge. it was a rough time for me. 
> 
> \+ HAPPY COLLEGE AU UPDATE DAY, EVERYONE!!!!


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